A Good Man
by jAnon
Summary: There are only three events that Leonard would say changed his life. Note- Currently on hold.
1. Ch 1

There are only three events that Leonard would say changed his life.

The first—he was wanderin' through the old family library. His folks still kept books, though they were rotten with mildew and the glue on the binding long gone. Artifacts like that don't last long in the Georgia humidity, temperature controls be damned. There was a giant book about anatomy. The pictures were fading, the pages stank of somethin' awful. But it was the best book Leonard ever laid eyes on, second only to the Bible. Cracking open the stiff pages isn't when he decided to become a doctor, that was later. But the seed was planted here.

The second—he met Jillian. Also at second, when he married Jillian, and when that marriage fell apart and Jillian divorced him. The point is, Jillian is number two in his life. She always has been, and maybe that's the reason why their marriage broke in half. He doesn't want to think about it. It's still too soon and still too close to his heart. Leonard doesn't remember much of the good or bad right now, to be honest. It's all feelings that average out at bittersweet. At any given moment, they range anywhere from anger to grief to nostalgia to apathy. But Leonard's been in relationships before, he's taken his psychology classes, and knows that time heals all wounds. This one's a doozy, he's sure of that, but it'll pass. Besides, there's a boy—James—who's makin' a very strong bid to take Jill's place.

The third—Joanna. The day he became a father. The day he wasn't the racing against the cesium seconds in an emergency case, givin' the hollerin' newborn (or taking a limp body) to a proud and tired (tired and sobbing) mother, but to his wife. The day when he was the one, not some lucky Joe, who held life in his arms. Joanna, meaning 'God is gracious.' And Leonard believes it, seeing this life that he created move her tiny fist to touch his finger. She looks up at him in perfect trust and that day he swore he'd be a better husband and the best father. That day he made another vow, one of many, that he wasn't able to keep.

Leonard McCoy is human. Born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, of the United States. His family's got a long history of men who served their country and their planet. They pride themselves on being able to trace that lineage back to the War of 1812, when Leslie David McCoy served under then General Andrew Jackson in the Louisiana campaign. There's some object signed "Old Hickory" stuck in the family albums. Several members of the McCoy clan participated in the Spanish American War, Civil War, the Great War, World War II, Korea, Vietnam. They're listed for Yugoslavia, Eugenics Wars, World War III, and the Earth-Romulan War. Leonard wasn't expected to enlist in Starfleet. The family has at least four McCoys, Leonard's cousins of various degrees and removals, already in the ranks.

But he has always enjoyed irony, and finds his current situation to be extremely ironic. He's never thought of himself as a soldier and he's always hated war. Starfleet claims to be a totally peaceful operation devoted to science. To be fair, they are at the cutting edge of research in practically all fields. But Leonard knows that science and war go hand in hand. The biggest leaps in technology come from weapons development, revolutionary medical techniques are discovered from bodies shredded on the battlefield. Things are generally discovered much faster when your advantage, and therefore your life, depends on how you can harness the atom, or how fast you can jump to warp, or how precisely you can phase matter.

Leonard is human, and he feels like hell. This boy James, who randomly insists not only on monopolizing his free time but also calling him 'Bones,' is real annoying. Like you wouldn't believe. He's also real immature. Jim's already in his twenties. By that time, Leonard's pretty sure that kids've got most of their kinks out and no longer feel compelled to get into bar fights against four Starfleet security guys. Jim still feels that way, and you can see it in the way he carries himself (also in the beautiful black eye and busted nose he's sporting). The guy's got a chip on his shoulder and somethin' to prove. Leonard's not sure _why_ Jim chose to stick around him, but he has.

Another time, another place, he's not sure he'd give the boy the time of day. He's a busy man. But misery loves company, and Leonard feels miserable. Divorce, a lost family, broken promises—he's got nothin' but his bones left. Jim's a pain the ass and a first class idiot (he doesn't care what they say about the kid's aptitude charts. Leonard's always called 'em like he sees 'em), but the kid needs him. Maybe he's doing this as an apology to his girls. God knows it's too little too late, and they won't ever know about it. But it's still an apology, a firm resolution to himself and God that he'll try harder this time.

Atlanta aint the country, not by a long shot. It's a booming city and Leonard's not a country boy. It's in the South, which is another thing entirely. Jim likes to poke fun at his accent (Leonard thinks that's rich—a Midwestern farm boy straight from the cornfields of Iowa, who knows how to drive a damn tractor, making fun of his Southern accent), and grimaces at the music Leonard likes. He gets defensive on both counts. He aint changin' his accent for no one, though it's been going away on its own accord. And in his opinion, country music's the only thing worth listenin' to at all. It's simple and true. It makes him laugh, it sobers him up. What else could a man want?

Sometimes, just for kicks (because he can't believe some of the scrapes Jim gets himself into), Leonard compares himself to Rick in _Casablanca_. Jim's Louis, that annoying Frenchman who somehow manages to stick his nose into everyone's business. The parallels stop there, but it cracks him up to think about it when he's watching Jim try to explain to Pike why he felt the need to fly a ground shuttle at Mach 3. Leonard, like they rehearsed, saves Jim's ass yet again by providing some ridiculous excuse (Pike's not fooled) and Jim gets off the hook without getting tangled in academic suspension. As they leave Pike's office and go for lunch, Jim says one of the freakiest things he's ever heard.

"Bones, I think this's the beginning of a beautiful friendship."


	2. Ch 2

If people had it their way, Leonard McCoy would be witness to more than 8,521 immaculate conceptions.

The girls that give these virgin births all fit the basic description of Mary too, which is to say that they're all young. And scared. So scared that they deny ever having sex with anyone. The first time a girl vigorously shook her head when he asked "have you had sexual intercourse with anyone in the past five months," Leonard gaped. It was the second week in his residency and he was learning the ropes, doing grunt work in the ER. The second time, he laughed. The third (all of these were in the same week), he got worried. The amusing part of the whole thing went away real fast.

These girls are scared. Leonard doesn't ask what kind of education they've got ("you know that's not physically possible, right?"), he doesn't ask what kind of home they're from ("does your mom know about this?"). He doesn't ask about the neighborhood they live in or whether their boyfriend treats them right. It doesn't take a genius to recognize the different signs, and the folks that generally come to this hospital usually struggle to make ends meet.

Some of these girls are victims of rape. The doctors and psychiatrists try to encourage them to report it to the authorities, but they're usually too traumatized and afraid to do anything like that. Some're hooked on this or that illegal drug and Leonard knows at the bottom of his soul that they shouldn't be mothers. Some are just innocent, unlucky girls. It's the first time, and now they're pregnant. Others are in denial. They know exactly how and when things went down, but they don't want to admit it. Leonard learns fast that he's gotta press the 'off' button on his emotions, else he'll go crazy trying to help these girls. His job is to tell them the truth and their options. He takes tricorder readings to check for any venereal diseases (he thanks God that the tests aren't invasive anymore, like they were in the old days), gives them meds, and passes them on to another doctor. A specialist here, a psychologist there, a rape counselor, a drug rehab center.

He's required to tell the girls all their options. They can keep the child. They can keep it and raise it, they can keep it and give it up for adoption. They can abort it. Whatever they choose, all the options are intensely emotional and life changing for the girls. They're already scared and they want this nightmare to be over. A lot of them want him to make the choice for them. Once, a girl listened silently as he gave his usual spiel, crying the whole time. Afterwards, she looked at him with puffy red eyes and asked "what should I do? Tell me what I should do."

He had received training for all this, but the first time it happens, it hits him like a punch to his gut. It occurs to him that this girl might not have a father, or a mother, or anyone to turn to. She's alone, with a life growing inside her. She can't be more than seventeen years old.

And for some reason that he still can't pin down, he got mad. He got mad at her for putting him on the spot with a question like that, he got mad that she was alone, he got mad that the world was such a cold, indifferent place. He got mad at her because he's a doctor, and it hurts him to kill or harm life in any way. He understands the need for abortion. Asking a raped woman to carry to term the child of her attacker is insane. Asking a woman to carry to term a child that's destined to die because of some genetic hiccup is hell too. Barring things like that, he hates the idea of abortion. He's seen enough death that any life is a wonderful thing. But Leonard also knows that he's also not this young, scared girl whose life might change depending on what a random stranger who happens to have a medical degree says. Where's her mother? Where're her friends? Who the hell am I that not one, but two lives rest in my hands?

It made him do some serious soul searching, mostly with a bottle of whiskey. Jill noticed (she always noticed) his mood and offered what comfort she could. In the end, Leonard didn't resolve any issues or find the answer to all things. He simply got used to it, to the point where it was just a normal day in the ER. People die, they live, they survive, they give up. He was amazed by how helpless he was in it all. Sure, he might correctly diagnose some rare case of paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria, then another patient would go into cardiac arrest.

It's a battle against death and disease, and Leonard fights it every way he can. When he was younger and first starting out, he was determined (like all young doctors that work in the ER) to save every damn life. It wasn't realistic (they told him this) but he'd find a way. He'd reinvent the way people did medicine. They already tried to do it with machines (people hated that. There's something about being looked after by another human that just can't be simulated by a robot, no matter their accuracy and precision)—he'd make crazy surgical techniques. He'd find the bullet cure, the magic pill that dissolved away all pain (well, dissolved away the pain and wasn't extremely addictive or cause ten thousand harmful side effects). The world would be a better place.

And then reality hit him. The reality that you can do anything and everything, but if the man doesn't want to live, he just doesn't want to live. Leonard McCoy learned some things about life, the heart and soul of it, that he didn't learn in his anatomy book or the textbooks. The human body is like a machine, with all its various parts and pieces. One thing breaks down, others might follow or not. It depends. A surgeon goes in like a mechanic and fixes it up. The patient might recover or not. It depends. A man suffers a concussion and loses half his memory. He forgets his children, job, friends, family, everything. Who is he, deep down inside? The woman on the surgery table getting a bone marrow transplant, who is she?

The human body is like a machine with a heart. The mind can be damaged, the body can rot, the bones can wither away. Too many things can go wrong with the physical organ of the heart too. But Leonard knows that a person is his heart. A person is her will to live, or her desire to die. A girl silently cries as she decides in her heart to keep the baby. Another resolves to abort it. Some of these girls come back into the hospital days later as corpses. They were so scared and alone that they decided to kill themselves, rather than face the terror of the unknown. Some of these girls come back to the hospital wailing in pain as the contractions hit them like a tsunami.

Leonard wasn't very religious when he started this. Sure, he went to church and got baptized, took part in communion and listened to the preacher. He tried to live an honest life.

Being a doctor changed things. He doesn't know the Bible as well as he should, and he still has far too many sins he hasn't taken care of. But he knows a verse. It's neither here nor there, Leonard thinks. For some reason, it still resonates in his heart.

_Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground, and worshipped,_

_and said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord._


	3. Ch 3

The Starfleet uniforms are nothing short of a grade-A pain the in the ass.

Leonard's a doctor. The only doctors he knows that would wear something as insane as these bright red straitjackets are hospital directors, who don't actually do anything but walk around the halls waving papers and looking important, or someone who's got a stick stuck down his craw. Leonard's a doctor, and he needs to _move_ damnit, if he wants to treat patients. Starfleet seems to prize order and the appearance of efficiency over the actual thing. This isn't the first time he's come across such boneheaded rationalization, and he knows it won't be the last. But he'll be damned before some admiral's idea of a uniform gets in the way of saving a man's life.

There's also the redness of it. Leonard's not one to search for meaning where clearly none is present, but he can't help but wonder about this one. Is it that old Spartan mentality, when the warriors wore blood red cloaks to disguise the flow of blood and make them seem invincible? Is it a nod to the fact that Starfleet is the biggest truly communist system that's ever been conceived on the Earth (think about it—it's a pure command economy. They get no choice in clothes, meals, quarters, transport. Cadets're discouraged from having too many personal objects)? Is it that red makes humans alert, keeps them on their toes? Does someone higher up have a fetish with the primary colors? Why the pure crimson? Leonard watches the Academy campus from a lecture room window, the blocks and dots of red moving every which way. It's a weird sight.

He figured when he signed up for Starfleet that practicing medicine in space would be the same as practicing medicine at the hospital. In some aspects, it is. But _damn_, Starfleet's rich, and it shows. They've got all the latest technology, nicely packaged and ready to use. The tricorders they issue are ten times more sensitive than your regular stuff, and there're are fifty more options. Every Sickbay's got state of the art equipment, designed to cure anything in the books. The biobeds monitor the patient's frequencies with exquisite accuracy, they've got nifty bells and whistles that allow him to create amazingly detailed profiles of his patients. Right now, Leonard's taking mostly technical classes devoted simply to explaining how to use all this grand machinery. Christ, they even have a high speed, high resolution, _portable_ electron microscope! The fact that he's able to look instantaneously at microbes blows his mind away.

But as he uses the gadgets and reads the case studies, the more he realizes that human feats in biomedical engineering have got nothin' on the universe. She hurls every single malady imaginable at the poor bastards who go into space (confirming his suspicion that space is disease wrapped in darkness and silence). The success or failure of the CMOs lay in their ingenuity, their ability to think on their feet while people were dying left and right like it was goddamn Spanish influenza. And there's always some time when the machines fail for one reason or another, and it's back to the old fashioned methods. Leonard can't imagine making a diagnosis without a tricorder, but that's what they're learning right now. He's studying hard. Someone's life might depend on it.

Leonard always was fascinated by old medicine. Some of the techniques were barbaric (needles to sew up a person? Like they were some sorta garment?) and terrifying (_bleeding_ a person to somehow cure them? Though that's not the worst by far. He doesn't even wanna _talk_ about amputations). But the professor, who may as well be old as Hippocrates himself, makes it clear that they've got to keep all their options open. The old man tells some incredible stories (he can't decide whether to believe them) about using some indigenous tree sap to glue together the flayed skin of an officer, breaking cranial bones (bashing her head in, essentially) to relieve the pressure that accumulated in her skull (caused by a freaky space virus, no less), forcing a man to drink his own urine to balance out his crazy electrolyte counts. Leonard doesn't take notes. He watches intently and listens.

He'll be taking classes on xenobiology and xenophysiology too. Leonard'll always count himself a human doctor, meant to treat human patients, but he's gotta know the basics. There's a comparative xenomedicine class he's enrolled in for the next term, and the whole premise of that is tryin' to find universals in the way bodies are structured. It's an interestin' question, both academically and in the field. Some things, like pain as an indicator of illness and the interconnected nature of the body and mind, seem to be universals. Other than that, Leonard speculates that biology's having a field day. The way he sees it, even before warp drive and meeting the Vulcans, humans wouldn'ta had veterinarians if you could cure a dog the same way you cure a human. They got animal doctors for a reason.

All in all, he's busy. Being busy means he's not thinking about Jill and Joanna. Not thinking about the divorce and his family is the closest thing he'll get to happy right now. Leonard's trying to stay away from the bourbon and brandy because that's a sure-fire way to get him depressed. He doesn't always succeed, but Jim manages to keep him away from the alcohol, mostly by getting himself off-the-rocker drunk every Friday. It's like clockwork. Jim still goes by the "work hard, play hard" philosophy, with the emphasis on playing hard.

Well, he's not bein' fair to the kid. Jim's somehow juggling seven classes and three extracurriculars. Leonard's not sure if Jim's doing all the work for those classes, or if he's even attending all of them, or if he just doesn't sleep. He seems the type to do all three. They don't keep tabs on each other yet, so Leonard doesn't make it his problem. But he can't help but think that this is another one of Jim's I've-got-something-to-prove things. And sometimes he wonders if the kid'll burn up in the fire of his own ambition, or if he'll go on to change the world. People like that usually go one way or the other. Or both.

It's a start, and not a bad one. It could have been worse, he knows. Leonard's doing what he loves (even though it cost him all the people he loves), he's meeting some people in the medical department who he can respect and get along with, he's got a roof over his head, clothes on his back, food in his belly. A few credits in his account. He's still not too sure what to make of Jim, but he'll roll with the punches. The fact that he's going to serve in a tin can that's liable to break down in the middle of the vacuum of space is something he's not thinking about right now. He'll deal with the aviaphobia when it comes (usually throwing up works).

He's busy, he's not unhappy. Life's not horrible.

Except, he never managed to learn how to do his own laundry. It explains why the damn uniform's shrunk two sizes. Or maybe they were like that to begin with. He can't tell. Where's the number for the damn Office of Affairs? There's an admiral who's gonna get an earful.


	4. Ch 4

The first time Starfleet decides to take the new cadets on a big field trip (what are they, kindergarteners?) to space dock and show off one of their shiny new flagships, Leonard just about shits himself in the shuttle. He tries not to catalog all the things that could go wrong, he tries not to look out the window (why do they even have windows? All the better to get sucked to into space, my dear, the Big Bad Wolf cackles), he tries not to think about solar flares or engine failures or fuel explosions. Nope, not thinking about it all.

When the goddamn thing lifts off the ground (was that a jolt? Is that normal?) and launches into space, Leonard tells himself to breathe deeply, close his eyes. He is not in space. He's on some beach. Somewhere warm. There's blue water and solid ground, mostly in the form of sand. He's got a drink in his hand and he's sitting in the sun. Not in space. Then Jim has to obnoxiously poke him in the arm and ask what's wrong. What the hell does he _think_? It aint natural for a man to be off the ground. If men were supposed to fly, they'd have wings, damnit! Jim's all ease and good humor, not nausea and mortal fear for his life. Yeah, Leonard's exaggerating a little, but a man's allowed to be dramatic sometimes.

He opens his eyes for half a second to see Jim staring out the window, totally enthralled by the sight of space. There aint nothing to see, as far as Leonard's concerned. But the expression on Jim's face reminds him of the time he went to visit the Notre Dame and stared at the huge Rose Window. Awe, humility, wonder. Those are all written on Jim's face, as though space itself was his cathedral. That moment, Leonard knows that men were meant to have wings. They just had to find their own—to dream of the sky and long for that cold freedom.

He half expects Jim to be running all over the ship like a lunatic, exploring every crevice and being the smart aleck smartass that he is. But he's not. Jim's subdued but not quite reverent, as he walks through the ship and takes in the sight. He's at the back of their tour group and doesn't hear a word that the guide's saying. His thoughts are far away, but his eyes are burning with an intense light that Leonard's rarely seen in people who aren't running a high grade fever. Some of the other cadets are giving Jim weird looks, but Leonard gives him the space he needs. He's just thankful that for once in his life, the boy's not runnin' his mouth a mile a minute.

It's like Cinderella though, without the glass slippers and prince and hullabaloo. Jim finally snaps out of it the when they get to the bridge and Leonard has no idea what the guy's thinking. A few of the kids ask the guide if they can have a spin the captain's chair, and she lets them. They're a rowdy bunch, climbin' all over the thing as though it were a jungle gym. Jim stays away as if it had leprosy. He just kind of wanders around, looks at the different screens, make a few comments here and there to another guy walking with him. And there's a surprise visit from one of the higher ups. How nice. The boys and girls stand at attention, the woman in the sleek black uniform (who turns out to be the new First Officer of the ship) says some vague blather about Starfleet, and answers questions. She's human, as far as Leonard can tell, but she calls herself Number One. Ridiculous name, in his opinion.

This ship, she explains, is the U.S.S. _Farragut_. It's in space dock for some minor system repairs. It's scheduled to go on a one year scientific mission, then it's due for some major infrastructure and engineering overhauls. Someone mentions the _Enterprise_, and why isn't this ship down on earth getting rebuilt from the ground up? The _Farragut_, she says in that oh so cool, calm voice of hers, is a much younger ship than the _Enterprise_. It'll undergo a similar process ten years from now. For now, they're here for maintenance and repairs, then it's off to another mission.

Does she like being in space that long, someone asks. The question elicits a rare smile (not that Leonard's been keeping track. She is a fine lookin' woman) and that's an answer in and of itself.

"You get used to it," she simply says, like the whole thing's a goddamn enigma.

Somehow, she manages to notice Jim. Leonard knows (and so probably Jim knows too) by the way she gives a start and does a subtle doubletake that this woman knew George Kirk. Don't say anything don't say anything don't say anything he wills.

"Cadet Kirk?" she asks.

Jim stiffens, clearly expecting some sort of comment like "you look so much like your father" (um, okay?) or "how's your mother doing" (she passed away) or "your father was a fine man we hope the fruit doesn't grow too far from the tree" (thank you with grit teeth). "Yeah?"

"Kindly refrain from leaning on that ledge. It is not yet—" Jim manages to crash to the floor in a spectacular fashion "—stable."

Jim scrambles to his feet, refusing the various outstretched hands. He glares at Number One, then the expression vanishes as he turns on his smarmy grin.

But she's already assessed to make sure he's got no injuries, doesn't make a big deal out of the whole thing and moves on to talk about other things (damn, that woman is good). The rest of the trip, Jim rubs his elbow and radiates more nervous energy than a coiled spring. He's real twitchy on the shuttle ride (Leonard tries hard not to look at Jim, as all that jiggling and shaking makes him even more nauseous) and he looks like he's about to make a run for it when Leonard, still sick to his guts, grabs Jim's arm.

"How about some drinks? It's on me."

"Nah, I don't really feel like it. Thanks though."

"Come on, Jim."

"I've got this test I gotta study for," he scratches his head and shifts from foot to foot. Damn, but this boy's got the worst tells when he lies. Leonard'll have to teach him a thing or two.

"Dinner then. I'm as hungry as a bear, and that replicator stuff was awful. Worse than the ground ones."

"I thought they were okay."

"Are you kidding me?" Leonard gets out of the seat and they walk out shoulder to shoulder. "I've tasted mucus with more flavor than that gravy."

"What? That's just gross, Bones," Jim makes a face. "They make you eat mucus to become a doctor?"

"Jesus Christ, Jim, there's not enough money in the world to make me do that kind of thing! I was talkin' about my own. You know, phlegm and all."

The pointless conversations lasts them all the way to the restaurant (huh, wouldya look at that? We're right in front of your favorite restaurant. Now let's go in and get some proper victuals). By the end of the meal, Jim's laughing and doing something idiotic, the waitress is flirting with them both, and Leonard's had some fried chicken and peach cobbler. It aint Mom's cookin' (it aint Jill's cookin' neither, a voice whispers), but damn if this aint the good stuff.


	5. Ch 5

They learn about torture today. The alien kind. The different forms it can take, the effects on humans and other aliens, methods of treatment. The whole class, a mountain of feeling builds inside him, a weird combination of outrage and resignation. Leonard has no illusions about humans—he's seen some sick of sons of bitches, men and women who take sadistic pleasure in the pain of others. He kind of hoped that alien species might be different. That they wouldn't commit atrocities against each other.

He knows he's being a naive fool when he hears about all the fucked up ways that Orion men torture their young women. That's nothing though. He just about vomits when he hears how the women get their revenge. At the end of class, Leonard decides that Orion has got to be the most messed up society he's ever heard of. It's a demented cycle. Their men are complete slaves to the mature females, who use the pheromones they naturally produce to control the men. But only adult females produce these. Young girls are enslaved by the men, and the guys abuse and torture the girls while they still have the power. When the girls reach sexual and pheromonal maturity, the tables are turned. Leonard has no idea how a society like that can even survive and how in the world they once had a highly advanced civilization. He also wonders why the cycle keeps going. If the mature females helped out the younger ones, or the males didn't beat up on them to begin with, wouldn't things be better for everyone?

He mentions it to Jim over beer and supper, raging about how the Federation should just screw Orion's status as a neutral system and go in and fix that society. Jim's usually sympathetic to whatever Leonard says, but this time he finds that Jim isn't as surprised or completely outraged about it as he is. The boy just shrugs and pulls out the Prime Directive. Which doesn't even apply to the situation because the Orions have warp capability. Jim counters with some crap about systems have the right to self determination, which sounds an awful lot like the bullshit that Earth nations went through in their history, using national sovereignty as a blanket excuse for perpetrating massacres and genocides while international organizations sat back and used the same craven excuse for not interfering.

Jim gets irritated. "Diplomacy isn't that simple, Bones. You can't just barge in and tell people you know what's best and you're gonna fix whatever you think is wrong. That's the kind of logic that leads to genocides in the first place. I mean, what're you gonna do? Execute the leaders of the standing government? Whatever you do, it's still blood on your hands."

"So if you're a Starship captain, you're telling me you'd just sit and do nothing while there were individuals getting slaughtered on the planet." Leonard holds his breath, not sure he wants to be sittin' at the same table with this kid. Then the weirdest thing happens—Jim's eyes turn hard and cold, his body tenses, for the briefest moment. And a second later, it's gone.

"No, that's not what I said. I don't know what I'd do, and I can guarantee you that I wouldn't sit around and do nothing. There's always another option. What I'm saying is that you can't tell people what's right and what's wrong just based on what you've been taught all your life. I mean, for the longest time, humans thought eugenics was the way to go. Or aliens—did you know that in some alien cultures, cannibalism is completely acceptable? They think it's an honor to be eaten, to literally become an integral part of their society or whatever."

Leonard grimaces. He can't believe all the ways the right and wrong can get spun on its axis. Both eugenics and cannibalism are wrong in his books, and goddamnit, he feels it should be wrong in everyone else's too. He also can't believe Jim's becomin' some sorta philosopher.

"It's not philosophy, Bones. Just stuff you have to think about and get used to if you're going to make First Contacts and have diplomatic meetings with creatures that think in a totally different way than your own.

"Personally, I don't like some of the Starfleet policies. They're not flexible enough, which isn't that surprising, since mostly Vulcans wrote it. You should read the original text—it sounds so fucking paranoid, like a society'll be completely traumatized if you violate the Directive in even the tiniest way. They don't give a captain enough leeway to make some of his own decisions. I think some violations are harmless and maybe even necessary, while others, yeah, it's probably a bad idea to give some primitive society a tour of your ship. It's a case by case thing, but I guess that has pitfalls too. I'm not a captain yet. We'll see."

Leonard's not satisfied at all with Jim's answer, but he can admit he's got a point. He asks Jim exactly what he thinks right and wrong are.

"I don't know," Jim says honestly. "No, scratch that. I don't claim to know what's right. But I do know what's wrong. There are some lines that should never be crossed," the hardness in his eyes returns and disappears in a flash. "But whether I'll act on it is a different issue altogether.

"Think of it this way, Bones. Societies are like people. People have to learn things, and they mostly learn by making mistakes. Those mistakes have costs, and sometimes these costs are pretty steep. But it's better to pay for it early on and move onto the next lesson than to get a cheat sheet, 'cause you'll pay through the nose down the road if you do that. And yeah, I know, societies have a tendency to pay for their mistakes through the blood and lives of individuals. It sucks, but as far as I can tell, that's a constant in the Alpha Quadrant. Even for those super logical Vulcans."

Well, wouldya look at that. Maybe the boy's not such an airhead after all. For the first time, Leonard can actually imagine Jim bein' a not-so-bad captain. Leonard likes this argument they're having and the way it makes him consider Jim in a completely new light. He points out that people have teachers and parents, so why shouldn't societies?

"Just doesn't work that way. Vulcans made First Contact with us, and they still think we're kind of primitive, wallowing around in our emotions. At least, that's the vibe I get from my Vulcan profs, like they can't believe all the illogical shit we do. Would you have wanted them to send a squad to completely change us, make us more like them? I'm not sure it's even possible to do that, since we've got totally different biologies. You see what I mean?"

Yeah, Leonard saw. It was another one of those grey area things that he hated. He could deal with them—he had to deal with them, living in reality and all—but that didn't mean he had to like it. On one hand, it meant that societies were free to grow and change along whatever path they chose. On the other, it meant Orion was stuck, and probably'd stay stuck, in this ruthless cycle of slavery and torture. Leonard hates that kind of arithmetic, because he knows that one wrong and one right don't cancel each other out, and two wrongs sure as hell do _not_ make one right.

So it surprises the hell out of him one day when the nets explode with the news of a book. It's written by an Orion, and no one can figure out if the author's a male or female. They don't even know the name of the writer, and no one's coming forward. But it's legit—it's got details in there about Orion that no one but a native could know. And it's the truest book ever written about love.

It's being translated into every Federation language, even Vulcan. People are declaring it a classic, and at first Leonard thinks it's hype. He avoids it because he doesn't want to think about love, not with the divorce still hanging over him. Besides, he never liked romance novels. But he gives in one day and decides to actually reads the damn thing. The file isn't very large and it's not many pages. It takes him all of two hours to read it all.

It's not a romance.

It's the truest book ever written about love.

And the damndest thing is, they never say "I love you," or whatever the equivalent is in Orion. Leonard vaguely wonders if the word "love" even exists their language. It wouldn't be a big shock to him if it didn't. But this author manages to capture the essence of love—the truth of it—in the pages of this novel. It's neither a blazing fire nor an earth-shattering dream, and somehow Leonard knows deep down that it's not enough to start a revolution in Orion. That don't take away from the truth of it.

It's the brief glint of a star set against the glaring lights of the city. It's an outstretched, empty hand amongst the closed fists meant for fucking and flogging. It's standing tall and sure and choosing while everyone's bent and panting and arcing and screaming and crying from sex or torture or slavery or all three. It's the courage to hope for freedom in a place where no one is free. It's three words spoken quietly and honestly.

"Let me help."

In a society where everyone uses and abuses another person for their own satisfaction, help is unheard of. It's insanity. It's a missed opportunity to avenge hurts inflicted. It a weak, puny thing that can do nothing against the inevitable tide of self interest and self love. It's a liability, a promise freely given in a world of extortions.

By the end, Leonard is amazed. He is humbled. The book makes clear to him what went wrong in his marriage. He loved Jillian, but did he ever help her? Was he ever willing to give up a part of himself and compromise for her? He knows the answer to all those questions.

Jim hasn't read the book. He's not really the type to read literature. But Leonard watches as a green skinned girl trips and her things go flying just about everywhere. And it's Jim who without thinking, goes and picks up datapads and offers to repair them. Leonard knows that when Jim finally gets a good look at the girl, ulterior motives're forming faster than a supernova collapsing. That's fine. A man's allowed to have a healthy sex drive.

But Leonard knows what he saw. He's gotten a rare glimpse of the essence of that boy. An outstretched hand, a light in his eyes, a willingness to help—no strings attached, no questions asked. Jim's rough around the edges and he's got something to prove. But Leonard knows, this boy's going to shape up into a first rate captain and a good man. It'll be a long journey, but it's one he'd like to share.

--

Jim's crazy. Leonard always knew this. Or maybe his hearing's going. What with all the chaos, that might explain why he thought he heard Jim actually offer to help that Romulan madman. Nope, he's not imaginin' things. That green blooded half-Vulcan can't seem to believe his pointy ears either.

"Captain, what are you doing?"

"Showing them compassion. It may be the only way to earn peace with Romulus. It's logic Spock," (Leonard snorts. That kind of logic doesn't compute with him, and by the looks of it, it doesn't make sense to the half-Vulcan either) "I thought you'd like that."

"No, not really. Not this time."

He's dead relieved when Nero sputters and spits, "I would suffer the end of Romulus a thousand times. I would rather die in agony, than accept assistance from you."

No skin off Jim's back. "You got it. Arm phasers. Fire everything we've got."

Leonard just about strangles Jim when 'everything they've got' almost gets _them_ sucked into that black hole too. He's gonna have a little chat to talk some sense into the boy. Right now, he's got Pike to tend to.

--

"_Why does Spock call you Captain? Were you in the war together?"_

"_We served together."_

"_And you don't want to talk about it? Why? Did you do something wrong? Are you afraid of something? Whatever it is, let me help."_

"_Let me help. A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He'll recommend those three words, even over 'I love you.'"_

"_Centuries from now? Who is he? Where does he come from? Where will he come from?"_

"_Silly question. Want to hear a silly answer?"_

"_Yes."_

"_A planet circling that far left star in Orion's belt. See?"_

Star Trek, the Original Series, City on the Edge of Forever


	6. Ch 6

Leonard can remember the first time he and Jill had a big fight after they got married. It was a couple months after that newlywed glow wore off and life was back to normal. He can't remember what they fought about, but he remembers fuming afterwards at the hospital, trying not to take his frustration out on the patients. He worked a double shift that night, partly because he was needed (but when doesn't the hospital need extra hands?) and partly because he didn't want to back home still mad.

After two shifts, he was still mad and dead tired. He went to the local bar near the hospital and drank a few whiskeys, brooding. When he got back home somewhere around 4 am, Jill was still up. She looked like she'd been crying. She started crying again when she saw him, ran to him and hugged him so tight he thought he might just pass out right there. Leonard was surprised as hell, but he wrapped his arms around her as she kept saying "I'm sorry." His anger, the whole foul mood of the day melted while he stood there, on the receiving end of her love. "I'm sorry too," he replied, stroking her hair. Damn, he loved that woman.

Both of them were too tired to have sex right then, but they had a nice romp when they woke up. And in the shower. And by that time it was around noon, so Leonard called into the hospital sick (oh the irony) and Jill did the same. It was just the two of them the whole day in their own little world, making love and going on a picnic (Jill's idea), seeing the latest newfangled holographic movie, and talking that nonsense lovers say to each other, like a second honeymoon.

But taking days off every time they had a fight for some slow makeup sex wasn't an option. And Leonard fell into the habit of working double shifts after they had a fight. Second to Jill, he loved medicine and being a doctor (later, he realized that this statement was not true. Jill was second to medicine), so it made sense that he'd lose himself in the insanity of the hospital, where at least he could navigate the chaos. Home was a different matter. By God he loved her, but some of the things that she would get mad about irritated him to no end. He made them forty five minutes, an hour, late to the dinner with the Kangs, so what? He didn't plan on the man lying on the table to go into cardiac arrest right in the middle of surgery. Things happen in the hospital, and it's out of his control.

The ride to the Kangs and the ride back was tense. They got out of the car and entered the house, hung their coats, went up to their room. Leonard began to undress, staying on his side of the room. Jill was the in process of taking off her jewelry, watching her husband in the mirror, waiting. Jill wasn't going to apologize—she was always the one to apologize first, and this time she was going to put her foot down. Leonard sure as hell wasn't going to apologize. If the Kangs didn't invite them back, then as far as he was concerned, he didn't even want to know them. He climbed into bed. A few minutes later, he felt the bed sink as Jill sat down.

"You could have called. Sent a message at least, letting me know you'd be late," she finally said, breaking the silence.

He turned to face her. "Jill, I was up to my elbows in blood, scramblin' ta figure out what the hell was going on," exasperation crept into his voice. "Callin' you about bein' late ta dinner was the last thing on my mind."

"Leonard, this was important to me! Ji-Yun was my best friend in college, and we really wanted to see each other. This was the one night we were both free—and you _promised_ to be back from the hospital on time."

"I said I'd try to be back by five, I can't ever make ya promises about things like that," he said, as though she should have known better. "Forty five minutes aint that long."

She crossed her arms. "Then what is, Leonard. If keeping my friends waiting for an hour isn't a big deal, then what is."

"Jill, you're makin' a big fuss outta a molehill. A man's life was on the line," he closed his eyes, suddenly tired.

"You say that every. single. time. as if it gives you some sorta immunity against everything! I'm tired of hearing about this man's life on the line, that man's life on the line. What about me? What about what I need and want, Leonard?"

That sounds like the most incredibly selfish thing to say. Leonard can't believe she just said that. It tips the scale on his anger, and he's got a feeling he'll be logging extra hours in the hospital tonight. He sits up.

"Well what the hell do you think I shoulda done, Jill? Just take off my scrubs while the man's flatlinin' and tell the surgical team 'sorry, I gotta run because I gotta go to a goddamn dinner party'? That sounds like a grand idea, Jill, I'll do that the next time we're gonna be late to the Kangs." He's getting real sarcastic, the mean and biting kind.

"No, stop twisting my words." She pauses, trying to consider her words. She didn't want to say anything she would truly regret later. "Couldn't you spend less time at the hospital? Couldn't you get yourself assigned to a different branch? Downtown Medical is so much nearer, and the people there don't need as much help. Do you really have to work at Halsfield Local?"

But the feeling is already snowballing inside Leonard and besides, he hates those stuffed shirts up there at that fancy hole they call a medical facility. Leonard's convinced that their policies are discriminatory and that just goes against every principle he's believed in, the very reason why he practices medicine. He explodes.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?!" he gets out of bed and looks down at her. "I'd hang myself before I went to go work at that place!"

"Why not?" Jill bites back, defensive. "They're a perfectly fine hospital and there's no proof that they turn away patients. That's just an idea you've gotten into your head!"

"It aint an idea, it's the goddamn truth. Jesus Christ, Jill, I can't believe you're sayin' this."

"Leonard, if something like that were going on, don't you think that someone would report it? Or complain about it? Why won't you even _consider_ my suggestion?"

"Because it's insane, that's why!"

"There's nothing insane about it! You're just mad because you know I'm right, and you can't let go of this ridiculous grudge you have against that hospital."

"So now you know all about how they manage their budget, how they run their ER, how they treat their patients. That's just dandy, Jill," he's got some pants and a clean shirt in his hand. "Why don't ya just sing a goddamn hymn of all the wonders of DTM," he buttons and zips his pants and puts on a belt. "And while you're at it, why don't ya tell the Kangs about it too, and all your friends, if you're so in love with it," he looks for some socks.

"Where are you going?"

"To DTM, ta give them my goddamn resume!"

"Leonard, don't go. Why are you so angry about this? There's no reason for you to get so worked up."

"I've got every reason to be mad! Christ, how can you say that, that it's _just_ a life on the line. They've got lives and families too, Jill."

"I know that, but what about our life? You spend more time at the hospital than you do at home."

"There're people dyin', Jill."

"No, that doesn't answer the question anymore. What about us? I'm tired of this, Leonard. I'm tired of everything in my life revolving around that hospital. You're a doctor—I'm not asking you to give that up."

"Then what are ya askin'? Because it sounds to me like yah are askin' me to give up the hospital."

"Leonard, let's talk about this in the morning. Don't go."

She looks at him, and they're both tired. Something inside Leonard gives, and he begins to undress again. She doesn't watch as he flings his clothes on the chair, turns off the lights and gets in the bed. Leonard's a ball of tension and feelings still churn inside him. After a while, he looks over at Jill, who's sleeping with her back to him. He looks at her for a long time and those feelings drain away, leaving him incredibly exhausted. But before he falls asleep, he scoots closer to her and wraps an arm around her waist.

The next morning, Jill wakes up to an empty bed. Leonard's left a note that says he got a call from the hospital, but he'll be back by five. There's tickets to a comedy show and a promise that they'll go to her favorite bar. He gets home at five seventeen, but the show's at seven anyway. They grab a quick dinner and have a good time at the show, trying their best to get over the fight from last night. Jill looks radiant when she's in that dress and laughing. Later they slow dance to the jazz band that's playing at the bar.

They slow dance some more in the bedroom as Leonard takes Jill's clothes off piece by piece, enjoying the feel of her body flush against his. He loves this woman.

But they never do talk about it.


	7. Ch 7

"Leonard honey, y'all come on home now."

"Momma? Somethin' happen?"

"It's time. Your pa aint gonna be with us much longer. Y'all come home ta pay respects. Susanna's already here, Jackson's on the way. Your Uncle Joe and Aunt Shellie're here with your cousins. Uncle Travis aint gonna make it in time, since he's out on a mission in the Laurentian system. But his kids are comin' home."

"I've gotta finish somethin' up here, but I'll be home on the next shuttle."

"Leonard, ya oughta know that Jillian's gonna be here too, with Joanna."

Leonard was silent.

"You behave yourself now, don't let that temper get away from ya. I've had some long talks with that girl, and it aint her fault you were a fool. Pa wanted ta see his grandchildren before he went. You respect a dyin' man's requests."

"I know momma. Aint nothin' gonna happen," he said quietly.

"Good. You take the fastest shuttle here. There's that express that runs from San Fransisco ta Norfolk, and ya can transfer there to a local to Atlanta. Won't take y'all more'n two hours."

"Momma, I know how ta get home. I aint ten years old anymore."

"I don't know what ya know, boy. You've got yourself all mixed up and turned about with that medicine'a yourn, I don't even think ya know how ta tie your own shoelaces. And dont forget ta bring your best suit."

"I aint got nothing but my Starfleet dress uniform, and it's bright red."

She sighed. "What happened ta all y'all's clothes? You left them with Jill?"

"I don't know where they are. She prob'ly threw 'em out."

"The things ya put me through, Leonard. Fine, I'll ask Jill ta pack one of your suits."

"She aint gonna have 'em."

"You'd be surprised, Leonard. I've gotta go back and see ta your pa now, but you come back home."

"Love ya, ma."

"Mmhm, love ya too honey."

--

"Hey Bones, wanna—you're packing?"

"Yup. Takin' a leave of absence and goin' home." Leonard looked around for some clean underwear. He found one of his textbook-datapads stuck under the bed (so that's where it was) and put it on his desk. He rummaged through his file bank to see what he'd take to read, feeling slightly guilty that he was still thinking about work when his father was dying.

Jim frowned. "Why're you going home?"

"Family stuff."

"Something happen to Joanna?"

"Aint that family, Jim," he stopped and looked directly at the boy. "My pa's dyin'."

"Oh," Jim shifted awkwardly, unsure of what to say. "Sorry."

Leonard continued packing while the silence between them grew. Jim didn't know what to do with himself—he'd been on the receiving end of such sympathies many times, but rarely ever had to give them—so he fiddled with Leonard's things and watched him rush all around the room searching for one thing or another. Besides, Leonard mused to himself, Jim's young. The prospect of old age was so far away that it wasn't a reality for him—there were far more years ahead of him than years behind. Leonard, on the other hand, was gettin' there. He's not quite there yet, but he's gettin' there. His own limits and mortality were becoming more and more real to him. And now his parents were dying.

"Need any help?"

"I got it under control, thanks, Jim."

"I can come with you if you want."

The boy meant well, but Leonard thought that was a bizarre offer. They were friends, yes. This was a matter of family.

"That's mighty kind of ya, Jim, but it's fine. All my folks're gonna be there, I won't be alone. Y'all just stay here, have fun and go to class."

"In that order?" Jim laughed, unsure of why he felt vaguely hurt. He pushed the feeling aside.

"In that order."

He was just about done packing. Leonard stuffed the last bit of clothing into his back, slung on his coat, and stood there. Jim was messing with the computer terminal again. He turned around.

"All set?"

"I think so," Leonard nodded.

"Which shuttle are you taking?"

"The one to Norfolk."

"Yeah, that's the one I'd take too, then a connecting shuttle to Atlanta. But it doesn't leave for another thirty minutes—wanna grab a quick lunch at the terminal?"

"Sure, Jim. But shouldn't ya be in class right now or somethin?"

"We had an exam. I finished early," he shrugged.

Leonard rolls his eyes. Typical.

They have lunch at a fast food place outside the terminal ("I'm not payin' those insane prices. Why do terminals always gotta jack things up four more credits?"). Leonard's subdued, thinking half thoughts about his childhood and his father, reflecting on those memories in a way only death can bring on. Jim's torn between simply rolling with the mood or doing something obnoxious to distract Leonard. He can't help it—he starts messing with everything in sight, unable to contain that nervous energy.

"Jim, it's all right," Leonard finally says. "I'm fine. You're a sight more agitated about this than I am."

"Me?" Jim knocks over his drink. The fizzing carbonated sugar concoction (he and Jim had a debate a while back about whether it was soda pop or coke. Leonard bein' from the South and Atlanta bein' near a large coke factory, it's always been coke. Jim bein' a Midwesterner, he's always called it pop. They're currently at a standoff right now) goes all over the table and drips down on the floor. "Shit. I'll get that."

"Hey, hey—calm down. Don't worry. I won't be gone more'n a week, the ways things're lookin'. My pa's lived a long and full life, compared to most folks. I'd rather he keep livin', sure, but sometimes it's just a man's time."

Jim has no idea what Leonard's talking about, and it shows on his face, clear as day. The only death the boy's ever seen isn't from old age, but from mishaps, freak accidents, or madmen on rampages. Jim doesn't associate anything natural with death, and he thought Leonard was the same way.

Right then and there Leonard makes a decision. He might regret it, but what the hell.

"You know what, I changed my mind. Why don't ya come with me and meet my folks. It aint an ideal time, but I'm sure they'd love ta meet ya."

"Really?"

"You'd be more'n welcome, so long as you mind your manners. We'll find a place ta put ya up."

"You're sure about this?"

"Yup. Unless you've changed your mind."

Jim thinks about it for a minute, then nods his head slowly. "Yeah. Let's go."

They head out of the restaurant after cleaning up the mess Jim made, barely making it in time for the shuttle.

"We'll stop by a store ta get ya some proper clothes. Or you could borrow some'a Jackson's old stuff, ma's probably got it lyin' around the house."

The rest of the shuttle ride is spent between comfortable silence and bits of conversation. Leonard's not much for talkin' right now, and neither is Jim.


	8. Ch 8

-So that's what they call a family.

After they got Jim some clothes, they caught a taxi and got dropped off at the old McCoy mansion. Leonard never lived in the mansion—he grew up in the suburbs of Atlanta. This is where Uncle Horatio, the eldest of the family, lives, with his wife Crystal. But the house is where the whole clan gathers. It's got the family plot. It's where every McCoy, with a few exceptions, has been married. It's seen scores of Thanksgivings, Christmases, Fourth of Julys, Easters, birthdays, anniversaries, and family reunion celebrations. It's where every McCoy's had their funeral service too.

When they get out of the car, Jim's hit with an intense humidity and a sweet smell—the ancient magnolia trees on the estate are in full bloom. The house is bustling with activity. Jim's a little shocked to see tons of kids are playing out in the yard, under the shade of the trees, chasing each other around the house. The dogs are out barking and running with them. There's a teenage girl reading on the porch, another pair of brothers walking out of the house, carrying fishing poles. Whatever Jim was expecting, _this_ sure as hell wasn't it. It feels more like a holiday, not a funeral.

Leonard's not affected by the sight at all. He's already greeted the boys and given them firm handshakes, asking after their mother. He gives a big bear hug to one of the little girls, whistles to the golden retriever and gives the dog a good scratch behind the ears. In the middle of it all, a woman who looks a lot like Leonard bursts out of the house and hugs him. She starts scolding him about being late, about the state of his clothes, teasing him about his haircut. Jim figures it must be Susanna, Leonard's older sister. He hangs back, watching the scene unfold before him when Leonard hollers at him.

"Jim! Are ya comin' in or not? Come on over here and meet my sister."

-Mother daughter father son.

There are _so many_ of them. Jim can't keep all the names straight. The immediate family's all here or on the way (Jillian's mentioned. Jim frowns and glances at Leonard, who acts like nothing's wrong), but there's also a ton of aunts and uncles and all their kids, and their kid's kids, and in some cases their kid's kid's kids. The enormous kitchen seems to be filled with the sound of women laughing and gossiping, while the men are talking politics in the parlor or watching a ball game in the drawing room.

Jim's still trying to figure out if Thanksgiving has come early for the McCoys or if there really is a dying man somewhere in the house. He asks Leonard, who simply laughs, claps him on the back as though it's the funniest joke he's ever heard, and tells him to go and introduce himself to the rest of the family. Jim takes him up on the suggestion—he can roll with the punches. These folks're open and welcoming, no awkwardness about it. He quickly gets wrapped up in the group of older men who're talking about the recent debacle with the Senator and his Andorian aide.

Leonard goes down to the kitchen to find his mother. She makes a whole lotta fuss about that's just like you to sneak here, not even tellin' your own ma about when you're arrivin', how did I ever raise such a boy, didn't I teach you better, have you had anythin' to eat, do they feed you properly at Starfleet. Leonard manages to have a ham sandwich (Virginia honey glazed), chats with the ladies and has a nice cool glass of mint julep. Afterwards, his mother marches him up to his father's room.

The man's dying, to be sure, but none of that spitfire spirit is missing.

"Hey pa, how're ya doin'?"

"That's what all the ruckus was about downstairs. You've come home."

"Yeah. Wish it was under better circumstances."

"The Lord gives us what He gives us, aint no contradictin' His plan. I'm glad to see ya, son."

"Yes sir," they shake hands.

"How's life in the service? You never were the one who wanted ta go join them up in space."

"It's fine. They're trainin' me to be a doctor for a Starship."

"Good, good. It's a good thing you're doin', Leonard."

"Yes sir. I brought one of my friends with me here—Jim Kirk. You remember the Kirks?"

"Which ones. The ones in Carolina or North Dakota?"

"I don't know. I thought granddad knew Tiberius Kirk."

"That's the North Dakota Kirks, those folks have got some roots in Indian blood up there. Can't hardly tell anymore, the line goes a while back, but it's there."

"I didn't know that."

"Your granddad served with old Tiberius, but our families never were very close. I met George once or twice, he just a little boy, eight or nine years old then."

"Well, Jim's George's son."

"Where is he?"

"Downstairs, talkin' with Uncle Tim about war games or somesuch."

"Is he also a doctor?"

"No sir, he's getting pushed through officer school. Followin' in the line of his father."

"George never did make it to captain, did he? I remember now, the boy died on the _Kelvin _way back some years ago."

"Twenty one years ago. Jim was born premature in space."

"Is that so. I've about heard everything now."

"Yes sir."

"Ivy died on the _Kelvin_ too. You remember Ivy? She'd be your second cousin, her mother was Dorothea."

"Name rings a bell, but I can't put a face to it."

"Left behind a husband and two young ones."

"Can we not talk about death, pa? Especially considerin'."

"Aint my problem that you haven't come to peace with it, Leonard. A man's gotta face what's comin' ta him, and I've had a good life. The good Lord's blessed me in a thousand ways, and His timin' is always right."

"It aint that I haven't come ta terms with it. I seen enough death in my craft, pa. Wears a man out ta talk about it too."

"The way your ma tells it, you spend more time with the dead than with the livin'."

"Now that aint true. I give my time ta heal the sick."

"So much that you couldn't give any time to the healthy. Leonard, I've always admired your devotion ta medicine—it's a noble thing. But ya never learned when ta stop. And now you're payin' for it."

"Pa, don't lecture me about Jill. Ma's already been raggin' me about it."

"Let an old man speak on his deathbed, son. You let a good thing slip through your fingers. Now I don't need ta tell you were a fool, letting go of a woman like that. You already know it.

"To say it honestly, I aint got the right ta talk to ya about this, not when I wasn't the best example, bein' away from home on business all the time. It was hard for your momma. There aint a day that goes by when I don't thank God for her—she stood by me when another woman woulda left.

"I had ta learn the hard way about humility and about what really matters ta me in life. It'll be the same for you. I don't think ya know what it means ta love a woman yet, because ya weren't willin' ta give up part of yourself, even somethin' as important as medicine.

"It says there in Ephesians 5, 'husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it.' I even read those verses to ya in the wedding, but I guess ya haven't taken 'em ta heart."

"Yes sir."

"You're a good man, Leonard. Your momma raised you ta be a good man. But that aint enough ta keep a woman's heart goin'. You've gotta be her best man, ta keep a marriage alive."

"Yes sir."

There's another commotion downstairs and the muffled sound of greetings.

"Who's that? Go and see for me, will ya son?"

Leonard is walkin' down the stairs when he hears a squeal of delight. A little girl runs towards him.

"Papa!"

-Guess that everythin' ya heard about, is true.

Jim watches as Leonard picks up the small blond bundle, lifts her up and throws her high into the air. He catches her, an enormous smile on his face and hugs her fiercely.

Jim notices a woman looking at the scene. For a minute, her eyes sparkle and she's wearing a smile as wide as his friend's. Leonard's in full blown 'dad' mode now, chattering with Joanna in that special kid-speak about her dolls and fairy princesses and how much she's grown since the last time he saw her. The girl (Jim has to admit, she's as cute as a button) giggles and tells him about her new school and how she thinks Miss Graham is nice but why doesn't he ever come home anymore. Doesn't he still love her? She promises to be good.

Jim watches as Jill's joy fades into something more restrained and bittersweet. Leonard's features soften and anyone with two eyes can tell that this is breaking his heart. Leonard looks briefly at Jill, gives a nod of acknowledgement and turns his attention back to his little girl. He tries to explain, just as her mother tried to explain, that Daddy and Mommy don't live together anymore, but they still love her more than the world.

"I love you more," she replies. "I love you to the moon."

It's from an old bedtime story Leonard used to read to her. He kisses her forehead and says quietly, "I love ya to the moon and back." He pauses, holding her close. "Why don't we go have a visit with grandpa? Does that sound like a good idea ta ya?"

"Yeah!" she says, cheerful again. "Let's go see gran'pa!"

"All right," he sets her down. Joanna bounds up the stairs. Leonard waits for Jillian.

"Hi."

"Hey."

They can't think of anything else to say. So instead Jill walks up the stairs after her daughter and Leonard follows after her.

"Come on!" Joanna says from the top of the stairs.

"Coming, sweetie," Jill replies.

The three of them disappear down the hall, together.

So that was Jillian.

-So you aint got any family

The day's coming to a close. It's dark outside, the crickets are chirping up a symphony. Jim can hear frogs croaking too. He's outside on the porch, listening to the amazingly loud sounds of nature, and the bright laughter of the McCoys inside. They're still at the dinner table, talking about old memories and telling stories about when Leonard's dad was a kid.

So that's what they call a family.

He's lost in his own memories. Jim's not one to dwell on the past, but sometimes it catches up to him. He can remember a time when he had that—maybe not so many people, but it's the same principle. A loving mother. A stepfather he thought of as his own dad. He remembers how he drove his mom up the wall with his antics and how Mark was always half mad, half laughing at the trouble he got himself into. He remembers birthday parties in Iowa and Thanksgiving on Tarsus IV.

-Well who said ya needed one? Aint ya glad nobody's waitin' up for you.

He pushes aside memories of Tarsus.

-When I dream

He pushes aside memories of all the foster homes he's been shuffled through. It's not a matter of abuse or some fucked up shit like that. All the people were nice enough, and if he had tried a little harder, they probably would have taken him in and make him one of their own. The case managers try to place all their kids in good homes, avoid the horror stories about abuse and that kind of shit. There wasn't anything wrong with the people.

-On my own

Just him.

-I'm alone but I aint lonely. For a dreamer, night's the only time'a day.

Jim slowly exhales and relaxes in the darkness. He pushes aside thoughts about his family and concentrates on the one thing that's been a constant in his life.

Space.

-When the city's finally sleepin', when my thoughts begin to stray, and I'm on the train that's bound for Santa Fe.

-And I'm free, like the wind, like I'm gonna live foreva, it's a feeling time can never take away. All I needs a few more dollas, and I'm outta here to stay—dreams come true, yes they do, in Santa Fe.

Jim's been out in space three times: when he was born, when they went to Tarsus, and when he came back from Tarsus. None of these're what you might call happy times in his life. They're all events surrounded by death and loss. But these are the memories he's drawn to when he's caught in a mood like this.

-Where does it say you gotta live and die here? Where does it say a guy can't catch a break? Why shouldya only take what you're given, why shouldya spend your whole life livin'

-Trapped where there aint no future, even at seventeen, breaking your back for someone else's sake. If the life don't seem ta suit ya, how 'bout a change of scene? Far from the lousy headlines and the deadlines in between.

Sometimes he thinks he can remember right up to when he was born. His mom's sleeping, he can hear her light breath in and out. There's the sound of engine's chugging away to get them back to safety, away from the attack and out of the black. Some medical instruments are beeping and gurgling. The guy operating the shuttle's quietly sipping his coffee.

But tune that all out and he can hear the deep silence of space. The best sound he's ever heard.

He doesn't know why, but why's not important. Space is where he belongs. It's the only place he can ever be free, flying through that vast frontier.

-Santa Fe

There's a burst of laughter and it brings him out of his reveries. He looks back towards the golden light of the house.

-Are you there? Do you swear ya won't forget me. If I found you would you let me come and stay?

"Hey, Jim. I thought I might find ya here," Leonard silhouette emerges from the door. "Want a beer? Brought ya one."

Jim takes it. "I just needed ta clear my head," he says by way of apology. It occurs to him that he's being really rude, leaving the table like that.

"Don't worry about it. My family's a little overwhelmin' the first time ya meet them. Jill didn't know what ta do with herself when I introduced her to all my folks."

There's a silence.

"So that's your ex-wife?"

"You didn't meet her?"

"I kinda avoided her."

"Why?"

"I don't like her."

"What? Why not?"

"I dunno. I'm on your side?"

Leonard decides that Jim has weird ways of showing affection. The thought is much appreciated and Jim's got his heart in the right place, but this idea of taking sides is a little ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with Jill—she's a good person. Their marriage didn't work for other, more complicated reasons that Leonard's still figuring out. Hell, even his pa decided to take him in hand and tell him exactly where he went wrong. But Jim's young, so Leonard decides to let it go.

"Ya wanna come in? The mosquitoes are bitin' somethin' fierce."

"Yeah, sure. Let's go."

The rest of the night, Jim enjoys himself and cracks his own jokes about life at Starfleet and thoroughly embarrasses Leonard with all his anecdotes. The McCoys love him. The general consensus amongst themselves is that he's going to shape up into a fine man and a good captain. One of the girls, Leonard's niece (the girl reading on the porch), already has a huge crush in Jim and does her best to avoid him.

It finally gets too late for Charles McCoy to stay up, and he and his wife turn in. Horatio and Crystal follow. There are still McCoy's coming in from all over the world and parts of the galaxy, and the whole night people are moving in the house.

Leonard and Jim are put up in a room with four others. They sleep on the floor, on little mattresses with thin blankets (no one needs the blankets. It's a hot Georgia night). Jim finds out quickly that all the McCoys snore (an unfortunate family trait, one that all the women joke about even as they suffer through the sound). He lies awake. He knows he's not getting any sleep tonight—Jim's always been a light sleeper.

Mosquitoes or no, Jim decides to go outside for a little while. He finds a patch of ground not covered by towering trees and stares up at the sky.

-I aint gettin' any younger, and before my dyin' day I want space

While he's doing this, Charles Leonard McCoy passes away silently into the night.

News gets out the next morning. Some folks are crying, the mood is somber. But there's also a thankfulness for the time they shared, the opportunity to meet one more time as a family before he went.

Jim watches his friend closely, but Leonard's containing his grief. He's helping his mother with everything, supporting his sister, looking after his daughter. His brother Jackson's just got back from space, and he's telling him the news. Leonard's a doctor, and he's seen people's grief spill over time and again. His calm manner and his quiet dignity are needed here. Jill silently stands beside him and helps him with everything she can. In the end, it's Leonard comforting Jill when she breaks down and cries for the loss of her father-in-law. She loved their whole family, and still does.

-Not just air, let 'em laugh in my face I don't care, save a place.

Jim takes a leaf out of Leonard's book and helps these folks any way he can. He has a feeling he'll be doing this a lot more if he ever makes it to captain.

-I'll be there.

That's the goal. To be captain of a ship. To be in space. And he wants his best friend right there with him.

-So that's what they call a family. Aint ya glad you aint that way. Aint ya glad, you got a dream called

The funeral comes quickly. It's the first funeral Jim's ever been to, even though he's seen so much death. He decides that for a first funeral, it's a good one to be at. These people have something that he rarely finds—a deep love and honest care for each other. It brings up all kinds of mixed feelings inside him, but he refuses to resent them for having something he's only dreamed of. He's a better man than that.

Besides, he's got his own dreams. This is a family of blood, but he'll forge his own family with his own two hands, in space.

* * *

"Santa Fe" from _Newsies_


	9. Ch 9

Jim's trying to find himself.

He doesn't call it that, but Leonard can see it, clear as day. Jim's spent so much time showing everyone who he's not that he's lost sight of who he was in the first place. Or maybe he never knew. Kids usually don't know who they are—that's what their teenage years are for, and all that rebellion against parents and so forth. Leonard agrees it's necessary psychologically, but he also remembers his teenage years as being some of the most ridiculous times he's ever lived through. He knows he can't begin to contemplate what that must be like for someone like Jim, who's gone through foster homes and parents like a deck of cards. The guy's probably got a list a mile long of things he's not.

Jim, being who he is, doesn't go about finding himself in the usual ways (angst ridden poetry and anti-everything music are what were popular in Leonard's day—he hears these are still classics). Jim tries everything in sight. Aside from his outrageous course load and those extracurriculars he goes to regularly, Jim's getting a taste of everything Starfleet has to offer. He's started going to that xenolinguistics club, next week he's gonna go jump out of plane and skydive. The other weekend he went rock climbing in some godforsaken national park with a local student group, flashing their nifty little carribeaners. He even went to a meeting of the greenhouse club in the Biology Department and learned to repot their new hybrid cultures of _Nelumbo nucifera_, whatever those are. Tonight, he's crashing Starfleet's elite philosophical society. They're discussing whether freedom is a universal right, and Jim's got an opinion that's gonna be heard, if he has anything to say about it. Which he will.

"Don't knock it if you haven't tried it," seems to be his motto. Which explains why Jim's so open about, well, everything. The more Leonard gets to know the guy, the more he learns about Jim's sex life too. Jim seems to be very popular among practically everyone. Leonard corrects himself. Jim's very popular with the everyone who's into one night stands, sex and nothing else crowd. Leonard counts it a miracle that the guy hasn't caught some nasty venereal disease (the alien ones can do a real number on ya), and hopes the day will never come when Jim asks him for a favor. Leonard decides that if Jim does ask him for a favor (sure enough, one day Jim asks if Leonard has anything for a really bad case of itchiness in his crotch), it'll be one of those just give him the pills (Leonard stops listening when Jim tries to figure, out loud, how the itchiness got there in the first place. He wasn't 100% successful in tuning out the boy, 'cause now he knows it involved something about exotic sex positions and a toy Leonard's never heard of), don't ask any questions deals (really, don't ask _any_ questions).

He can see where the guy's coming from. Jim's in his sexual prime (technically, he's a little past, since a human man's sexual peak is right after puberty), he's experimenting with everything, right down to his orientation. Turns out, Jim's an equal opportunities kinda guy, in a way that people rarely are. Most people are more heterosexual or more homosexual, or even asexual (those are really rare), but Jim's right down the middle pure bisexual. He likes aliens too.

Leonard understands why Jim's doing this (the guy's building quite a reputation at school), but he hopes that one day down the line, Jim will find someone and settle down. Leonard can remember his own adventures, which were a lot of fun in their own right. That bachelor's party that his med school buddies threw him—that's a night he's never gonna forget, not until he lays himself down in the good earth. But now that he's free to do whatever he wants, free to sleep with any woman he likes, he can't do it. Jillian was the love of his life. She made an honest man out of him, and maybe it's because it's still too close to the divorce, but Leonard doesn't feel like sharing that intimacy with anyone else. Because that's what sex is to him—intimacy. To Jim, it's fun and an orgasm, almost like a damn recreation. To Leonard, it's the physical expression of the fiery, honest, clean love he felt for one woman.

Leonard doesn't see it much here among the cadets in their eyesore uniforms (not that he ever saw it that often before)—that silly look people wear when they're totally in love. He falls into that trap that older people (older being a relative term. Leonard is by no means old right now, though he might feel like it) get themselves into. He berates the shiny young cadets that flutter around Starfleet's campus for being young. What's the world coming to? Chivalry's dead, it's all about political correctness, no one really _feels_ anymore, like they used to the good old days. Right in the middle of his grumblings and internal rant, he bumps into a girl—no, not girl, but a young woman, because she carries herself with that kind of ripening maturity—he bumps into young woman walking across the lawn with the goofiest smile on her face. She apologizes, he's spilled his coffee all over the place, but that's okay. She's in love, it's written all over her face. He can accept that as a damn good excuse for not watching where she's going.

She introduces herself as Cadet Nyota Uhura of the Xenolanguages & Linguistics Department. Nyota Uhura offers to help clean everything up, buy him a new coffee, but he brushes it all off. He's fine—is he sure? Leonard laughs and says yeah, he's sure. He asks her where she's headed off to, and she tells him that she's going back to her rooms to get ready for her first date with a fella that she's like for a real long time. Leonard catalogs all her little ticks and yup, she's got the classic symptoms of being crazy head over heels in love. She's nervous but unbelievably happy, she's jittery and calm, she's a whole bunch of contradictions that don't make sense, never have, and never will. Leonard tells her whoever the guy is, he's a lucky bastard and gives her his best wishes. She smiles widely (that's one of the things about love. The people in it share their happiness so freely—it kind of naturally spills over), says goodbye, and leaves.

So maybe there's hope for the younger generation after all. A man's allowed to get carried away in a rant sometimes.


	10. Ch 10

Ever since his father's funeral, Leonard and Jill have come to a kind of truce. Joanna misses him somethin' fierce. Leonard can't afford to take the shuttle every weekend back to their old home, not with the kind of money he's not making right now (he gets a stipend, but by Starfleet's amazingly stingy rationale, he's not on the payroll, since he's not on duty yet), so they arrange regular videochats. Joanna's bedtime is at 8 pm, Central time. Jill and Leonard work around their schedules and Joanna calls him every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday night at 6:45 pm, which puts Leonard at 5:45 pm. They talk for twenty, thirty minutes, and then it's bath time for daddy's little princess and getting ready for bed (brush your teeth, comb your hair, story time, and lights out).

Sometimes Leonard can't make it, but he tries real hard to make sure those times are few and far between. Most of the time, it's Joanna who's not able to talk because she's tuckered out, or she's been a bad girl throwing tantrums all day, or she's playing over at her friend's house. He and Jill don't talk much except to say how Joanna's been faring at school or something else related to her. She feels like the only safe topic they've got. Leonard asked Jill once how she was doing, and she replied by quietly asking him not to ask her that ever again. That hurt obscenely. His heart felt like it had been ripped out—again. But he respected her request.

Leonard doesn't know what he's gonna do when he's out in space. He's pretty sure that Starfleet's got all sorts of idiotic regulations about communications limits for starship crew personnel, so he probably won't be able to talk to Joanna three times a week, if at all. He figures he'll deal with it when it comes. He knows that Jill's thought about this too—she always was a very thorough person. Besides, she's going to be the one who deals with Joanna's emotions when their baby girl finds out that daddy's going far far away, someplace that she can't follow. Leonard'll find a way. There aint nothing that love can't do, and there is no way in hell that he's giving up the last bit of contact he has with the remnants of his family.

Tonight, Joanna wants him to tell her a story.

"What kind of story, sweet pea?"

"A magical story! With a prince and a princess."

"All right then. How about I tell ya about the story of Moss Gown? How'd ya like that?"

"Yeah!"

"Okay then. Once upon a time, down in old Louisiana, there lived a rich gentleman with three daughters. Their names were Scarlett, Belle, and Candace. Scarlett was the oldest, Belle the second, and Candace was the youngest. Of the three girls, this old gentleman loved Candace best, because she was the kindest and loveliest of them all.

"Now one day, it happened that the old man knew his time was comin'. He wanted to settle his will and divide his estate among the three girls—he planned to give the largest part to his Candace, and give his two other girls a good portion too. But this man, though he was a good and true gentleman, he still had some vanity and stubborn pride in him. He called his daughters to him one day out on the big porch, and he asked them this question.

"'How much do you love me, my daughters?'

"Now these girls were no fools. They knew what was goin' on, probably better than their daddy guessed. They knew he was planning on givin' his plantation to them, and they guessed that whoever gave him the best answer would get the most land and riches. Scarlett, bein' the oldest, answered first.

"'Father, I love you more than all the gold and silver in the world. The bright and sparklin' jewels can't shine as bright as my love for you. Pearls are lusterless when you compare them to my love. All the richest silks of India and the brocades of China are worth nothing to me, so precious are you to me.'

"Hearin' those mighty fine words and poetry, the old gentleman was very pleased. But wanted to hear what his Candace would say. His second daughter, Belle, being second oldest, answered his question next.

"'Father, I love you more than the earth and stars, more than the beautiful pale moon in the night sky. The sun's brightness is but the light of a candle, so strong does my love for you shine in my heart. All the oceans of this world could not contain my love—it would spill over and flood the land, so vast is my love.'

"Why, those words were finer than the ones spoken by Scarlett! The old man's heart swelled with pride and he waited eagerly for Candace to begin speaking. But for a long time, she was silent. The gentleman thought it was because she was preparing something marvelous to say. He waited, Candace's sisters gave her dirty looks—they had no great love for her—and she finally began to speak.

"'Father,' she said softly and knelt to take her father's hand, 'I love you more than meat loves salt.'"

"Papa, I don't understand. Doesn't she love her daddy?"

"Well, honey, the old man didn't understand what she meant either. He thought she'd say somethin' more, but nothin' came. This man was lookin' for such fine words and puffed up sentences that he didn't really listen to what she was sayin'.

"Cause ya see, sweetpea, back then, and still now, salt was how you flavored all things. Food without salt, meat without salt tastes awful. You're a picky eater, so maybe you don't know what that means," he teased, "but meat without salt's like cake without sugar. Would you like to eat something like that?"

"No!"

"Exactly. So Candace was actually tellin' her papa that she loved him very much, and she was tellin' him that in the best and most honest way possible.

"But her daddy got real sad. He couldn't believe that's all she had ta say, after all those beautiful words her sisters said. Her sisters knew this, and they seized on it. 'See!' they said. 'She only loves our father like common salt! She doesn't love him at all!'

"And the old gentleman believed them. That very day, he gave all his land and wealth to Scarlett and Belle, and nothing to Candace. Her two sisters drove her out of the house and told her never to return. Candace fled, cryin', into the woods, into those mysterious bayous of Louisiana."

"No! Papa, you said this story had princes and princesses! I don't like this story, it's sad."

"What are you talkin' about, no prince and no princess? Silly, Candace is the princess. And there'll be a prince, but ya just haven't met him yet. I promise it'll all end happily."

"I want it to be happy all the time! Why's things got ta be sad?"

"Well, it's like meat and salt again, ya see? If ya never know sadness, ya never appreciate happiness. Candace's daddy didn't understand the importance of salt because he'd never tasted food without it. Life's got happy parts and sad parts, sweetheart, it's just the way things work. We wish things were happy all the time, but when ya think about it, what would happiness be if ya had never been sad?"

"I don't like being sad. I don't like this story papa, why don't ya ever come home?"

"I need ta talk ta your momma about that. I might be able ta come in a few weeks."

"I want you here right now," Joanna hugged her stuffed bear. "How come you're so far away, papa? I'll be a good girl, I promise."

"I know honey, you're always a good girl. Listen ta this story, and I promise it'll be a happy ending, all right? We'll finish this story, and then ya gotta go ta bed."

"Okay," she said quietly.

"Now where was I? Candace just got chased outta her own home, and now she's wanderin' the swamps with their cypress trees. She wandered and wandered, not knowin' where ta go, until she fell asleep. She was so tired from walking, she was so tired from cryin' that she slept like she was dead.

"But in the middle of the night, she had a strange dream. A woman, a voodoo lady, appeared in her dream. Her skin was brown like the rich soil, her eyes were green like a cat's. She was barefoot and wore gold earrings. This lady appeared in Candace's dream and said 'Gris-gris, gris-gris, grine. Who'll wear my magic gown?'"

"A magic gown?"

"That's right, a magic gown. It was made of moss—in the day, it looked like nothing, just raggedy patches of moss. But at night, it transformed in the most beautiful dress anyone's ever laid eyes on."

"Did Candace go to a ball and meet her prince?"

"Hold your horses there, sweetie. I gotta tell the story right if you want ta hear the happy ending.

"Candace woke up from that mysterious dream and found it wasn't a dream at all! The woman was standing right in front of her, her green eyes glowing by the light of the moon. 'Dry yo' tears, chile, and take this magic gown a' mine. Calm yo' heart and put on this magic gown, it's got the light of the Mornin' Star shinin' in its threads.'

"Candace looked at that golden dress with pure wonder in her eyes. But she looked back up, the lady was gone. Nothing was left of the cat-eyed except the gown Candace was holdin'. She was scared by all these mysterious comin's and goin's, scared of the noises that filled the swamp at night. But a gentle wind stirred and she heard the words 'Moss Gown, if you evah need me, just say _gris-gris, gris-gris, grine_, and I'll come to yah like the song of a whippoorwill.'

"So Candace put on that beautiful gown and walked out of the swamp. She didn't even know where she was goin', her feet just knew the where she was supposed ta go, by the magic of that dress. She walked miles and miles and followed the Morning Star. But as morning came, the star faded, and she noticed that her dress faded too. It was turnin' ta rags and moss. And when the light of day finally broke the darkness of night, she found herself front of a great plantation house, a white mansion just like the one she left at home.

"Candace didn't know right what ta do anymore. Her feet stopped walkin' on their own, and she felt lost. But she gathered her courage and walked up to that great door and knocked. Most of the folks would still be asleep, but by chance it happened, that the Mistress of the house was awake and saw her comin' a long ways off. Candace was so beautiful, but looked so sad, that the Mistress took pity on her and gave her work to do in the kitchen. Now, mind you, Candace had never worked a single minute in her entire life, but she didn't mind. She was determined to try.

"It was hard work. Candace's hands were scalded by the hot fire. She had ta clean all around and her soft white fingers turned callous with work. The slaves in the house didn't like her none, and they never talked to her. They called her Moss Gown, for that ugly raggedy thing she always wore. Candace was very alone and she missed her home. She missed her daddy, and she missed her easy life from before.

"It was gettin' near Christmas. The Master of the house decided he'd throw a grand old party, to celebrate, and it'd last a whole week, seven nights. They'd all have a time of it. The servants got ta preparin' for everything bright and early, killin' turkeys and roasting chickens, buying potatoes and boilin' carrots. Candace never worked so hard in her life. As the cooks were seasonin' the food, rollin' out pie crusts and makin' molasses cookies, Candace thought about the Christmases she spent with her father.

"She wanted so much to join them. The first night, all the guests came with their glittering dresses and sparkling jewels. Candace watched them in secret, dancing the same dances and looking at the new fashions. Their hands were so delicate, slender and white like she once had. She watched them again the second night, and the third. That night, she made up her mind. She'd go to that gatherin' the next night and have herself a good time. She had almost forgotten about her magical dress, and she had almost forgotten the magic words, but she remembered

"On the fourth night, Candace spoke those magic words. 'Gris-gris, gris-gris grine' she whispered, and the lady appeared right in front of her. She was wearin' smile as she touched the moss gown and transformed it to that beautiful golden dress. 'Now remember chile, the dress fades as the Mornin' Star dies.' Candace nodded, too happy for words. 'Off ya go, dear chile, to the ball.'

"Now it just so happened that the Master and Mistress of the house had a young son. He was lookin' for love, thought he'd found it many times, but never had. He was dancin' with one of the pretty Louisiana girls at the party when he saw Candace come into the room. No one knew she was, but she looked familiar to all of them. It didn't matter—immediately the gentlemen of the room were askin' her for a dance, and the ladies of the room were lookin' at her dress with jealousy. The young man didn't get ta dance with her until late at night, and when he looked into her eyes, he fell plumb in love."

"Is he the prince, daddy?"

"Yup, sweetpea, he's the prince."

"Candace was immediately drawn to this young man, her prince. He was a real gentleman, thoughtful, well mannered, kind, generous. Ya see, he didn't know Candace, but Candace knew him. She had watched him, how he treated the people under him and how he spoke to her. He was a good man, and already deep in her heart Candace loved him. Dancing with him washed away all the sorrow and pain she felt in the past months.

"They were so caught up with each other that neither of them realized that it was gettin' light. The Morning Star was dying. Candace suddenly realized it when she looked down and her dress was fading away. She quickly excused herself, sayin' she had ta go back home, and without another word fled the house.

"The young man was distraught. He didn't even know her name or who her father was, or anything. He thought the world of her, but she was gone in a flash. He slept badly, tossing and turning, hoping that the next night he might see her again."

"Joanna, honey, it's bath time."

"Just let me finish this story here, Jill. I'm almost done."

"I know how this goes, you're not fooling me, Leonard. Your stories turn into epics in the blink of an eye. If the tale went that there was a mean Arabian princess killing her husbands instead of a sultan killing his wives, you'd be the man who was Scheherazade."

Leonard beamed.

"All right then," Jill sighed, then smiled fondly. "Finish your story before her bedtime, that's all I ask."

Joanna looked up at her mother, annoyed that she had interrupted the story line right in the middle of the good princessey parts.

"Night came. And Candace, she spoke those magic words again. 'Gris-gris, gris-gris grine' she whispered, and the lady appeared again. She touched the dress again and made it beautiful, even more beautiful and golden than the night before. And she delivered the same warning. 'Remember chile, the dress fades as the Mornin' Star dies.' Candace nodded, and off she went to the ball.

"Everyone in the room seemed to stand still when she entered, she was that beautiful. But in truth, it wasn't the beauty of her dress that stunned them, but the dress was showin' to them the beauty inside her soul. She seemed all the more beautiful because she loved, and loved generously. She suffered, but that love survived, and she had faced sorrow, but her love survived. That was the beauty that lit their souls as they gazed on her, all through the magic of the cat eyed woman.

"The young man came to her side and loved her even more. They danced the night away, totally lost again in their marvelous world. And again, Candace forgot that sun was rising. She didn't want to leave him, but she was afraid he would spurn her when he saw her golden dress turn to rags. In truth, the young man couldn't have cared less about that, but Candace still disappeared into the dawn.

"And the third night, it happened again. They sat together at the great dinner table and ate little, just talked to each other like lovers do, falling deeper and deeper under that spell. And morning came, and Candace ran away again. The fourth night—oh, it was so hard for her to leave him, but she was still scared. She thought maybe it was better that it should stay a dream, a wonderful dream. Candace didn't think she could bear to have him turn her away, like her father turned her away. So she left him on the fourth night, shedding tears from her heart as she ran.

"The young man was determined to marry her. She was the love and light of his life. He travelled through the whole South, called on every household in Louisiana to find her. But she was never there. His heart grew weak with sadness, and he believed he'd never see her again. When he returned from his travels, he was very sick man, almost near death.

"Candace watched and tended to him as his health slipped farther away. But she couldn't bear to watch him die, so she decided, no matter what his answer, she would reveal herself. He might forget his illness and perhaps he loved her. What a sweet thing that would be! But he might forget his illness and forget her. Candace decided, though, she would rather have him not love her and live, than die of heartbreak.

"She was preparing a meal to take up to the young man when the cat-eyed woman appeared to her. She touched the moss dress and it turned into a gentle white gown of the finest cloth. It glowed with the light of the Morning Star. 'This will fade, but don't fear, chile. Don't run away from him. Take courage in yo' heart, and follow where it leads ya."

"Candace went up to the young man's room, but he wasn't there. She searched all over the house, and there he was, on the porch. He was lost in his own sadness.

"'I've brought you supper,' she said.

"'Please, leave me alone,' the young man replied. 'I have no appetite for food.'

"'Please, eat something. You'll wither away and die if you don't and I will follow you in heartbreak.'

"The young man looked up, and there was his love. His heart leapt for joy! Was it a dream? If it was a dream, it was the sweetest dream he ever had. He didn't want to wake from it, oh, let him sleep forever and stay in this dream. He asked in disbelief, 'is this a dream?'

"'No, my love. I am real,' Candace replied. As she said those words, the dress began to fade and turn to rags and moss.

"'You are real?' He reached up to touch her. Her fingers were coarse from work—these were not the hands he held when they danced. But no, they were. They were the same shape, the same strength. Was this her skin, so smooth and alabaster white at the dances, but here scorched by the fire and covered in the soot of the kitchen? Was this her hair, lying limp and dirty on her face? That sweet face, now lined with worry and the signs of toil, was this truly his love?

"But he looked deep into her eyes and saw the light of the Morning Star burning there, and knew he had found her love. Nothing could take away from the beauty he had found inside. And so, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her sweetly.

"'I have searched for you so long. Did you think that rags could change my love for you?'

"Candace's heart soared. She was so happy, full of love and hope and laughter. They embraced, finally united after a long separation. The young man eagerly ate his supper and quickly got better, just about as fit as a fiddle. She told him the truth of her entire story, and it caused him to love her even more. He asked her to marry him, and of course she said yes. Candace bathed, washed away the dirt and slime of the kitchen. She brushed her hair until it was soft. She couldn't do anything about her hands, but the young man didn't mind. He loved her for them. They got married, with all his friends and family gathered around, in a joyful celebration. And really, what more is there to tell?"

"The end! That was a great story, papa."

"But there is more ta tell, darlin'."

"There is? But she got married and they lived happily ever after, didn't they?"

"They did live happily ever after. But there's one more thing I need ta tell ya before you can go off ta bed.

"Because the wedding second day of the weddin' feasts, an old man appeared. He looked lost, completely alone. His clothes were all torn up, and he was ailing. They immediately made room for him and took care of him, but Candace couldn't believe her eyes—it was her father.

"He didn't speak of the wrongs he had suffered, but Candace understood that her sisters had driven their father out of his own home, just like they had done to her. She wept bitter tears at the thought. Her husband noticed immediately, and she told him who it was. He was shocked and comforted her, but Candace already had a plan.

"She went down to the kitchen herself and prepared a special meal, without any salt. She had it served to her father. When the old man tasted the food, he didn't want any more. It didn't taste any good.

"But Candace came to her father and knelt before the old gentleman. He didn't recognize her—that's how lost and lonely he was. She gave him the salt and said very quietly, 'I love you more than meat loves salt.'

"A memory started in the old gentlemen's mind. And he looked again. His vision cleared, and he saw his dearest daughter before him, smiling that gentle smile of hers.

"And in the distance, a cat eyed woman watched the scene, and smiled, sayin' to herself, 'gris-gris, gris-gris, grine, who'll wear my magic gown?'"

--

A/N- A retelling of one my favorite childhood stories, _Moss Gown_ by William H. Hooks and Donald Carrick.


	11. Ch 11

His little girl is turning five years old.

Leonard can't believe where the time went. The memories of everything past press against him but he pushes them aside, not wanting to go down that road just yet. His heart's still raw.

One thing is clear though—he's going to be there for Joanna's birthday. For once in his life, Leonard makes careful plans, buys his shuttle tickets in advance, lets his professors know about his upcoming absence, asks a few friends in the medical department to cover his shifts, lets Jim know where he's heading off to. Jim doesn't like it, since Leonard seeing Joanna means Leonard seeing Jillian, but Leonard just shrugs. Jim's gonna have ta get over this grudge he has against a woman he doesn't know.

Everything is set, he's ready to go, he's got his bags packed in advance, he's counting down the days. He's even got a bag of gifts (he knows Jill's gonna disapprove, since Leonard's spoiling Joanna), neatly boxed and wrapped. It's like Christmas come early.

Then he gets a message from Starfleet. They've cancelled his leave of absence—an emergency situation with the Klingons or somesuch nonsense requires all personnel to report on duty. That includes Leonard. They need every trained medical hand they can get. Never mind that he hasn't logged all the required hours yet to serve fulltime on a ship, never mind that they haven't formally done all the paperwork to give him his official status as deputy medical officer. A crisis is a crisis. Leonard's completed the bare minimum on the mandatory coursework, but even if he didn't, he's already got ten thousand hours logged in the ER. He's going into space. He's to report for duty in twelve hours. They have no idea how long they'll be there.

He can't fucking believe it. He is _so angry_. The emotion just piles up inside him as he shuts down his computer terminal and stares at it, wanting it to explode.

A year ago, two years ago, he would have gone. He would have grumbled all along the way and muttered a few choice curses about Klingons and Starfleet, but he would have called Jill and explained everything with an apology. "Sorry, but I have to go," something along those lines. Duty calls, people might need him in space, their lives are on the line, he wants to do everything he can to help.

But he's not the same man he was, even a month ago. Leonard's given some thought about his priorities, and ever since he lost everything in that divorce, he's come to realize exactly how _much_ he's lost. For the first time in his life, he decides that he's gonna try and get out of this. It's incredibly selfish of him, he knows. It makes him feel all conflicted and torn up inside. Duty and every single thing that lies in his heart, his beliefs and values, war against the aching love he has for his daughter. It's a bloody battle. But he decides all the same that he wants to be there for Joanna's birthday.

So Leonard does just about everything to get himself out of this without being a deserter or breaking the law. He brings up all sorts of technicalities, reasons why he's still not qualified. He even brings up his aviaphobia and how he'd be a liability in space, since he's not used to it yet. For seven hours, he gets brusque replies from admirals who're too busy preparing for the crisis to deal with him, indifference and veiled disgust from the lower officers who just spit Starfleet protocols right back at him. They wave the fact that this is the crisis situation in his face, and it's like the goddamn suspension of _habeas corpus_.

Four hours from Leonard's departure time, he calls Jillian. Joanna answers the call.

"Hi papa!"

Leonard's heart squeezes and he can't fucking _breathe_.

"Hey honey," he says gently. He can't help that his voice is tinged with grief and exhaustion.

"Papa, why're you sad? Did you get a boo-boo? I got a boo-boo today. I felled over and it hurt but I didn't cry, cause momma said big girls don't cry, and I'm a big girl!"

"Yes sir you're a big girl, and beautiful just like your momma," he manages to say, gathering a smile for her.

Joanna's a child, but she knows, with that acute sense that all children have, that something's wrong.

"Papa? Don't be sad. It'll be all right," she says. Leonard just about chokes.

"Sad? What're you talkin' about, sad? Your daddy's right as rain here. Just some things about work came up, sweetie."

"When're you comin' over, papa? Momma says if I'm real good then we'll all go to the lake together and eat apple pie. I'm bein' real good, papa."

"I'm sure ya are, honey. Can ya get your momma? I need ta talk ta her."

"Okay!"

Leonard watches the screen as Joanna bounces away and out of the room. He can hear her calling "Momma! Momma, papa wants ta talk ta ya!" There's a sound of Jill saying somethin', and the sound of Joanna's running feet back to the screen.

"She's comin', papa. Momma's a big slowpoke," she giggled.

"Now don't you go disrespectin' your momma, little girl," he warns.

"Leonard?" Jill sits down to the screen. She's got that look in her eyes and Leonard knows that she knows what this is about. "Joanna, honey, why don't you go on outside and play a little, or play with your dolls in the other room. Your daddy and I need to talk."

"Aw, momma—"

"Now, young lady. You'll get ta talk with daddy again after I'm done."

"You listen to your momma now, sweet pea."

"Okay papa. I love ya lots!"

She bounds out of the room again and Jill waits a while before she turns and faces him.

"I saw the news on the nets," she says without preamble. "I guess you won't be comin' home."

The way she says it like it isn't even a question feels like a knife slicing open his aorta.

"I tried, Jill, I swear I did. This thing must be somethin' serious, 'cause I can't get outta it. I talked ta everyone who'd listen—"

"It's all right, Leonard," she says tiredly and looks away. "Have you told Joanna yet?"

"No," he says quietly. "I'll send the gifts before I go, and I'll visit when I get back from space. But I don't know how ta tell her."

Jillian is silent for a while. Then she looks at him again, tears in her eyes. "Why'd you have to enlist, Leonard?"

He doesn't understand the question.

"I couldn't take it, being married to you and always waiting for you to come home from that damn hospital. Why'd you have to go and enlist and put me through the hell of being a soldier's wife? We're not even married anymore! Why couldn't you have just stayed put at the hospital, like you always had?

"I hate you," she whispers fiercely, tears streaming down her face. "I hate you for doing this to me, to our family. Now I have to wait and see if you're going to come home from space in one piece, or if the Klingons've left your body as a smear out there in the blackness."

Jill wipes her eyes and tries to stop the tears from falling again. She looks right into his eyes, that clear piercing look that gets to him every time.

"What'm I supposed to say to Joanna if you never return? What'm I supposed to tell her? That you died serving the Federation, protecting Earth? Do you know what they'll give me if you die?

"They'll come to my door, two Starfleet representatives. They'll hand me a bag of your possessions, your Starfleet ID tags, and a flag. And a check, for compensation. There's rarely ever a funeral—most of the time there aren't any bodies to be recovered. You'll have your burial in space," Jill sobs. "I hate you, Leonard McCoy. I hate you."

Leonard doesn't have an answer to that. He hadn't honestly thought about it. Sure, he had aviaphobia, but that was different. That was mostly based on fears of something unexpected happening. Dying in a battle in space? He didn't think about that possibility for himself because his job was to prevent the deaths of others.

He sits there, dumb. He has no idea what to say to her. Jill's crying dies down on its own and when she's quiet, she looks spent. Leonard wants so badly to reach out and wrap her in his arms, but he can't. He's not sure that she'd let him, anyway.

Leonard knew, even during the divorce, that he had hurt Jill in some really deep ways. After the divorce, he kind of assumed that because they were separated, they wouldn't be able to hurt each other anymore. It was a really stupid assumption because that's not the way that emotions work. He should have known better than to think that. And now, sitting in front of his computer terminal, three hours and thirty minutes away from launch, he feels all twisted up inside, knowing that he's still hurting her even when they're so far apart. He wonders what kind of man he is, that he'd do this so thoughtlessly to the one woman he's ever loved.

He's still fumbling for some words when Jill breaks the silence.

"I'll go get Joanna," she says, wiping her eyes and putting on a smile. "We'll have to go to the lake some other time."

When Joanna comes in, she's subdued. She knows something bad's happening—the feeling is radiating off both her parents and it makes her want to curl up into her daddy's arms and listen to his heartbeat while he strokes her hair and tells her everything's gonna be all right.

"Daddy, when're you comin' home?" She wants her papa now. She doesn't want all this sadness, she wants Momma and Papa to be happy. She'll be a good girl, she'll do anything so that they can be happy.

Leonard explains, as gently as he can, that he can't come home. He's gotta go into the sky and fight bad guys, he says. She doesn't understand. He _promised_, and she thought she was being a good girl. She wants him to come home, she doesn't want him to go away. She promises to be a good girl, the best girl, just please papa, come home.

"Please come home, papa. Please come home."

Jillian takes Joanna into her arms as she starts crying. Leonard says the first thing that comes to his mind. It doesn't come out as just words, but a quiet song, one of his country favorites.

_I'm already there  
Take a look around  
I'm the sunshine in your hair  
I'm the shadow on the ground  
I'm the whisper in the wind  
I'm your imaginary friend  
And I know I'm in your prayers  
I'm already there._

Joanna clings to her mother as she listens to her daddy's voice coming over the line. She's falling asleep when the song is over, and her mother adjusts her hold on her. Joanna hears her mother say something, a low "come back home safely" and her daddy's promise, another promise he's not sure he can keep, but he'll do his damndest to come back to them.

When the transmission finally ends, he grabs his pack, mechanically heads to the docking area. Everywhere, the graduated cadets are buzzing with excitement over this new mission, eager to get into space. They're young, they're energized, they joke about taking on those grunt faces and wouldn't it be awesome to blow up a Klingon battleship. Some of the older personnel are quieter—this is routine for them. Jim comes to see Leonard off. He's a little jealous that his friend's going into space and tells him not to have too much fun. Yeah, sure, Jim, I'll make sure of that, Leonard says real sarcastically. The irony is just unbearable.

On the ship, Leonard doesn't think. He doesn't need to, not really. He does what he's always done, and does what he does best. Their ship gets right into the middle of the skirmishes, but it never escalates into a full blown fleet to fleet battle. Leonard's still plenty busy though, fixing up personnel and tending to the wounded.

The little tete-a-tete with the Klingons lasts a month. The engagement is short, by Starfleet standards. The younger ones are disappointed. This isn't how they thought it would be. Leonard doesn't care much for their idiocy and spends most of the time to himself. He knows things could've been a million times worse. Things're already bad as it is because he hasn't been able to contact Joanna the whole time they've been going against the Klingons.

When he steps off the shuttle and gets his feet back on solid ground, all he's thinking about is going back to his room, taking a hot water shower, getting something decent to eat, and calling Joanna. He's heading off in that direction when he hears something amid the bustle of the dock.

"Papa!"

A little bundle runs to him and he catches his baby girl reflexively and holds her close. Jillian walks over.

Everything that was aching and hurting and numb in him disappears. Jill smiles, though she doesn't kiss him or hug him. That doesn't matter. He just stares in amazement at her and his little girl.

And for a brief moment, he pretends they're a family again.


	12. Ch 12

Leonard's not a man to boast. He's got a healthy measure of pride in him, and lately he's been humbled to his knees, but _damn_. When he's good, he is _good_.

Leonard's a firm believer that some people are naturally gifted towards different things. His mother, for example. There isn't a seed or shrub on God's green Earth that won't grow for her. She could take a puny rosebush, plant it in the desert, and have the whole thing bloomin' with the most gorgeous flowers you've ever seen. She has a green thumb—a greener thumb you won't find—and he remembers when he was growin' up, their house was full of cut flowers and fresh greens from the garden. His mother is a country gardener. She plants things and lets things grow free and helter skelter, no neat rows of petunias about it.

Jim's got a natural talent for bullshitting his way through any situation. Leonard has no idea how the guy does it. The thing is, it's not a matter of straight up lying, but a matter of making people believe what he's saying. If you heard the same sentence Jim uttered come out of anyone else's mouth, it'd sound downright implausible and insane. Let's say that Cadet Whosit proposes the exact same thing. You'd be thinkin', yeah, that idea to go mud wrestle with the Klingons sounds _great_, why didn't I think of it before? Wait! 'Cause I'm not a _moron_! But Jim Kirk says it, and all of a sudden you're sayin' to yourself, hey, that might work. It's crazy, but it just might work. Leonard puts a good deal of that magic ability to Jim's cockiness (the guy's got more confidence, or projected confidence, than anyone should be allowed), but he has to admit that there's something more. He recognizes that Jim has the rare ability to inspire people. The talent is raw and right now, Jim wields it clumsily. Come time though, and this man could have whole planets bend to his will.

Jillian, now that he thinks about it, always was a peacemaker. Some people are like that. They just know how to read people and group interactions to find the middle ground that everyone's willing to settle on. The McCoy family is huge, and he can't remember a single gathering where some kind of drama didn't explode. His niece starts fighting with her mother about some teenage issue or another, his cousin thinks his wife's havin' an affair, two of the kids fight over their latest gizmo—there's always something interestin' goin' on, involving lots of yelling and accusations. Jill was always there, ready to step in and clear the air. They really valued her for that. Now that he thinks about it, Jill always was more willing, in their marriage, to compromise what she needed to keep them together. But even peacemakers have their breaking point.

Leonard's not a gardener, or a diplomat, or even a leader. He never has been, never will be, and never wanted that burden. Let others squabble over policy and politics. The decisions he makes don't affect hundreds or thousands or millions of lives, but one life. He brings change one life at a time.

His place is in the hospital. That's his natural element, right in the pounding pulsing artery of surgery. His place is right in the middle of a medical crisis, when he's got to make a key incision or decide what kind of drug to use to stabilize a man. Leonard has a tendency to holler when shit hits the fan. He knows he probably shouldn't, as it panics the other doctors around him, but he can't help it. His own heart goes racing when he's battling against time and death. He's focused, all of his knowledge and experience spreads out right before him like scalpels on a tray. He reaches and opens up the artery using a combination of x-penthoid d4 in the bloodstream and a shunt, and knows instinctively that he made the right decision.

And sometimes, it's not there. Whatever he needs to keep the patient from dying isn't there. He doesn't know how other surgeons feel when they get to that stage (and Leonard has some extremely brilliant colleagues), but for him, that's when he's most creative. That's when he's brilliant. That's when he's not going by the script or playing the written notes, but improvising like hell. Anything goes. The whole time, he's mindful of the potential consequences and costs and gingerly walks that tightrope. Sometimes he loses and falls flat on his ass, with the accompanying flatline of the patient. Sometimes it's a small victory. And sometimes—these are the best times—he wins big. It's like the goddamn jackpot and Thanksgiving dinner with sweet potato pie and roast turkey all wrapped up in one. Leonard loves medicine—there's nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing. On those won-the-lottery days, he loves it even more. He remembers why he became a doctor in the first place and what drew him to study the intricacies of the human body.

Starfleet's got many faults, but one thing they do well is recognize genius. And they think Leonard has the makings of a genius. He still has to take classes (hell, he likes taking classes and learning new things) and he's still required to log hours in real vessel's Sickbay, but the Medical Department's just awarded him a _huge_ grant to research whatever the hell he wants. The goddamn sky isn't even the limit. They're going to let him use one of their best labs with all their shiny equipment with his pick of the projects. Advances in robotic prosthetics, nanoscale manipulations in neurobiology and applications in neurosurgery, development of artificial organs, Class IV embryonic cell research, frontiers in xenovirology, protein/enzyme oriented pharmaceutical development, studies of demographics and medicine, the list goes on. Leonard's read the proposals and abstracts for about a third of the projects, and he's interested in practically every single one of them. This is an amazing opportunity, an unforeseen blessing in his otherwise ambiguous decision to enlist.

One of the projects catches his eye, though. The premise is really interesting and, he thinks, extremely useful if he's ever going to serve full time on a spaceship. There's a few researchers working on it already, and Leonard hears that they do incredible things. They truly are on the cutting edge of space and medical research.

Their project proposal is this: there is a huge backlog of medical files from previous missions. The CMOs and other doctors and nurses wrote these reports while in the line of duty, and they tell of some weird, unbelievable things. These records have all been processed and archived, but aside from the ones that document really revolutionary new advances and discoveries, few have been looked into to see if anything else might be gained. Could certain results have been improved? How did this doctor slightly modify the instrument to make it more effective? What was the process they used to figure out the final coding of that virus? How did the equipment fail? How did human limitations screw everything up? If some sort of mysterious alien substance was used, is it reproducible in the lab? Can the same surgical methods used by aliens be applied to humans?

Leonard picks this project and he begins to read. He reads volumes upon volumes of the technical jargon that's like a second language and that genius mind of his picks up all sorts of tricks to the trade. He correlates all this data to what he learned in that other class, the one with the ancient professor.

The first thing Leonard develops is a method to track down an invisible and untraceable bug. He feels kind of silly doing this because there's no way to test it (all bugs producible in a lab are, by definition, visible and traceable), but it's another tool, another scalpel on his tray. He can't shake the feeling that knowing the method, at least having an outline, is going to be real useful someday.

A few years later when he's serving on the _Enterprise_ under Jim and the whole ship and crew is falling to pieces (even that unflappable, immovable, makes-Leonard's-blood-boil-with-some-of-the-things-he-says Vulcan) from an invisible, untraceable, extremely dangerous psychological bug, Leonard finds the cure right before they get sucked into disintegrating planet Psi 2000, saving the day and all their lives. Granted, Jim and Scotty discover another way of time travel, but as far as Leonard's concerned, they don't even come close to stealing his thunder.

When he's good, he's _really_ good.


	13. Ch 13

Contrary to whatever Jim might say, Leonard's favorite medical instrument is not the hypospray. It's not his tricorder either. The little tricorder is dead useful and gives him much more information than he'll ever need to use, and he has to admit that he gets a certain satisfaction jabbing Jim with that needle. But neither of them compare to his hands.

Whenever Leonard stops and thinks about his hands, he's amazed. Four digits and an opposable thumb. Flexible, quick, strong, sturdy. The bone structure, the tendons that run through, the muscles layered over it all, the nerves that receive and deliver so much information. Arteries and veins and capillaries, joints and fingernails. He can't even begin to count all the things that hands do, these funny looking appendages at the ends of his arms.

To humans they represent the sense of touch, they reach out to the world around and actually physically feel reality. Hand bridge the gaps between people—practically every human greeting he can think of involves some motion with hands, whether it be a shake, wave, bow, or solemn salute. They communicate, part of the intricate language of the human body. Well, there's also Federation Standard Sign Language, where hands literally are how people talk to each other. And there's braille too. Hands are how the blind read and the deaf talk.

It's how he practices medicine. There's the obvious fact that surgery, even with the advanced robotics of the age, a huge part is human and literally in the hands of the surgeon. When Leonard's not doing surgery and practicing general medicine (he's always like to do both and vary it up), his hands are just as important. Despite the tricorders, sometimes Leonard likes to have a good old fashioned listen at a person's heart. It's one of the few older medical practices he approves of, this contact between the doctor and his patient. Leonard's also more tactile than others. He reassures his patients with his words and by patting their backs, squeezing their hands.

Some folks are inclined to think that the human brain is the best part of the whole body, an evolutionary miracle. Some others think it's the kidneys and their remarkable ability to filter all kinds of crap. Still others argue that it's the heart, and Leonard admits that the heart is a damn fine organ. That muscle just tirelessly beats and beats every second of the day, for days upon days, controlled by that awesome electrical system and controlling the circulation of blood in the body. Leonard thinks the human brain is great. Kidneys are good too. Everything about the human body is something of a miracle to him, and really, what kind of sense does it make to rate its parts? Everything's there for a pretty good reason, and if something's missing, then the body's gonna break down, simple as that.

And strictly speaking, a man can keep living without his hands. He can survive. It'll be a huge inconvenience, but it's been done before and will doubtless happen again. And though Leonard is a doctor and any life is better than death, he also believes that life is about more than getting by and surviving. What's really wonderful about life are the extras—extras like hands. Is it some kinda contradiction that hands, which humans rely on so much, technically aren't needed to keep the heart going and mind spinning and kidneys processing?

Like friendship. A man doesn't need it to keep living. He needs human contact, to be sure, but Leonard's known some people who just don't have friends. They live in society, they have acquaintances, but nothing else. These people are breathing and walking, but something inside them is shriveled and inhuman. Is it some kinda contradiction that things that aren't strictly necessities are exactly what makes life rich? Exactly what makes life worth living?

Under the heartbreak and the sheer force of that pain, there is something quieter and deeper that Leonard misses about Jillian. She wasn't just his wife. She was his friend. She was the person who was closest to him, the person who understood him best. It took a lot of time to build that. Leonard thinks (hopes, prays) that he and Jill are still friends, but there's something broken about that relationship now. Kind of like a hand cut off or tied behind his back. The openness is gone, the honesty isn't really there anymore. They both hide their feelings and don't tell each other everything like they used to. Jill won't even let him ask how she is—that's where things stand now.

And this friendship that he's building with Jim is something different. For one thing, there's the age and maturity gap. As much as Jim's a nice guy, Leonard can't help but be reminded every so often how _young_ Jim is. Jim's been through a lot, but that seems to have stunted his growth in weird ways. And on the flip side, it's pushed him to be way more mature and knowledgeable about certain things than anyone under the age of 80 has a right. It's a really awkward combination, and from time to time, Leonard can see Jim struggling to reconcile those two sides of him. In his face, there's an almost naive optimism and idealism of what the future holds, but also dear knowledge of the shit reality can throw at a person.

By most psychology books, Jim should be bitter. He should be angry and raging at a world and fate that have been unkind and unfair. He's never had a constant father figure, he's estranged from his brother, his foster homes never worked out, he's never belonged. That's a surefire recipe for imbalanced, troubled young man. He's played with that line between delinquent and criminal before and knows the feeling of adrenaline in his veins, gained from various illegal highs. All the rule books and scenarios say that Jim should not be where he is now—the prestigious and highly selective Officer School for Starfleet Command.

But if there's one thing that Jim's known for, it's that he never plays by the rules in anyone's book. Even his own. He's always breaking and making rules and whoever wants to tell him how he should be or feel or act can go fuck themselves. Jim knows the value of hands, but he also knows that they're weapons. Leonard considers his hands in terms of his profession. Jim's hands are far more ambiguous things, tools that he's used to survive and come out on top at any cost, and tools he's used for completely altruistic purposes.

Sometimes he gets the feeling that Leonard views him as a kind of younger brother. What Leonard doesn't understand, and what Jim understands all too well, is you can't survive without hands. Even in civilized places with civilized men, underneath that layer is always the threat of violence. Hands grab and punch and fight. They scratch, hold knives and phasers. They strangle and beat and pummel. They drag corpses. Jim's learned that you have to be prepared for any situation and if you want to survive to live another day, you have to be willing to use everything you've got. Hands aren't an option. They're mandatory. Jim's used his hands to help and hope. He's used them to protect himself. And then he's used them to inflict worlds of hurt.

Jim doesn't tell Leonard about Tarsus—he doesn't want the shit that happened on that planet to suddenly define their friendship. He doesn't want pity either. He's sure that Leonard's seen the two faces of humanity and caught glimpses of that ugly, cruel streak all people have buried in them. But not like what Jim's seen. And in a strange reversal of roles, he finds he doesn't want to do anything that might shatter his friend's intrinsic faith in the goodness of man. Jim's not so sure he believes humans are good, down at their core. He's not sure he believes he's all that good either. But Leonard burns with this belief so fervently (why else would he try so hard to save all those lives?) that Jim's willing to give it a chance. Of all the people he's met at the Academy, Leonard's probably the best man he knows. That Jill divorced him and left a gaping wound only adds to his conviction that people can be real shits.

The thing is that Leonard, even though he sometimes treats him like an annoying younger brother, believes in Jim. Jim has no idea what he's done to earn that, but it gives him real confidence in himself. Leonard's the first person in a long time who's taken Jim seriously. Pike doesn't come close. That kind of faith in his potential makes him reconsider his hands. Because even as hands can be used for both good and evil, they are used to build. Back on that first shuttle ride, Jim extended an offer of friendship, half expecting to be fully rejected, like he always had been in the past. But Leonard took him up on his offer and gave back. Gave more than Jim thinks he's given to their friendship. This is the first time in his adult life that things have been stable, and he realizes that he doesn't have to claw for survival or just get by. He has a friend, a man who firmly shakes his hand and pushes him to be a better man, even as he accepts him as he is.

They say that life gives in the extras. Jim's never had that much extra. Leonard's had a lot of extra that he never rightly appreciated. They don't know it yet (though they can feel it), but they'll build a friendship with their hands. They'll give and take from each other over the years, and every time, always offer a little extra.


End file.
